


Vital Signs

by emmy_award, hubrisandwax



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Hospital, Alternate Universe - Medical, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Slow Burn, these tags are too much fun :3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-15
Updated: 2015-06-06
Packaged: 2018-03-01 16:07:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 67,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2779328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmy_award/pseuds/emmy_award, https://archiveofourown.org/users/hubrisandwax/pseuds/hubrisandwax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The nurse grinned again and it did something odd to Castiel’s stomach. Too many Lucky Charms, he rationalized. Lucky Charms and pain meds don’t mix.</p><p> “I’m Dean. And I’ll be your nurse this evenin’.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue/Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> the title is super angsty atm really sorry about that don't know if i'll change it or not
> 
> and only the beginning happens in the hospital. it moves out of the hospital after that. and please tell me if i get any of the medical stuff wrong.
> 
> feedback is wonderful <3

Prologue

 

taken from <http://orthoinfo.aaos.org/>

 

**Treatment: Medial Malleolus Fracture**

A medial malleolus fracture is a break in the tibia, at the inside of the lower leg. Fractures can occur at different levels of the medial malleolus.

Medial malleolar fractures often occur with a fracture of the fibula (lateral malleolus), a fracture of the back of the tibia (posterior malleolus), or with an injury to the ankle ligaments.

#### Nonsurgical Treatment

If the fracture is not out of place or is a very low fracture with very small pieces, it can be treated without surgery.

A stress x-ray may be done to see if the fracture and ankle are stable.

The fracture may be treated with a short leg cast or a removable brace. Usually, you need to avoid putting weight on your leg for approximately 6 weeks.

You will need to see your physician regularly for repeat x-rays to make sure the fracture does not change in position.

 

* * *

 

Chapter One

 

Castiel had never liked pain medicine. He didn’t like the way it knocked him out and made him groggy.

But, he had to admit, it did make the abominable wallpaper of his hospital room a little softer on the eye.

“How are you feeling, Mr. Novak? Any better?”

Castiel refocused on his attending registered nurse, a young woman with a smooth ponytail and bright eyes. Some corner of his brain revived enough to admire the fact that she wasn’t showing any physical evidence of having just completed a twelve-hour shift. “Hard to tell,” he grated. “I can’t even feel my foot. Or my ribs. Or much of anything.”

She smiled. It was small, but endearing. “That’s because you’re riding the high of Tylenol Number Three. But you’d say you’re feeling better than you were this afternoon, wouldn’t you?”

Images of broken glass, dented metal, leaking brake fluid, and flashing red lights swirled through Castiel’s mind. “Yes,” he agreed. “Better.”

“That’s good.” She scribbled something on his chart before going to check his levels. Her ID badge caught the light: her name was Sally. “You seem to be doing just fine. You should be discharged tomorrow afternoon, after you see a Physical Therapist.”

Castiel couldn’t stop himself from sighing. A small part of him had been hoping that they’d let him go that night with a little orange bottle and new shiny pair of crutches in hand.

Sally heard him and gently squeezed his arm. “I know. It’s not ideal. But at least you’re in the orthopedic wing, so it’s pretty quiet. You should be able to get some sleep.”

“Yeah.” He blinked, turning his gaze to the window. His room was on an upper floor, so his view consisted of the top halves of trees and some of the Cleveland skyline. The city glittered under the inky sky, winking at him through the humid air. If nothing else, he could be grateful for the air conditioning.

RN Sally glanced at her watch and bit her lip. “Listen, my shift’s almost up, but I’d be pretty pissed at myself if I didn’t at least get you something for dinner.”

Castiel frowned. “Oh, no, you don’t have to—”

“Yeah, I do, because something tells me you won’t eat unless someone shoves a plate of food in front of you. Listen, you can’t order anything from the kitchen now, but I’d be more than happy to grab you something when I go down.”

“I’m not going to impose—”

“You wouldn’t be. I have to eat dinner at some point, too, and today’s special is Chicken Tortilla Soup.” RN Sally caught Castiel’s confused look and added, “It’s basically ambrosia, only more Mexican. They make double the amount because it’s so popular. If you want a sandwich or something, it wouldn’t be any trouble.”

Castiel hesitated, fiddling with the edge of his blanket. “Are you sure?”

RN Sally nodded. “Of course. What do you want? Salad? Some pasta? A burger?”

Castiel licked his lips. “If, uh, there happens to be a cheeseburger, then, um—”

She grinned. “Gotcha. The chef owes me a favor, anyhow. Fries?” With a chuckle, she added, “Never mind. I think I know the answer to that question.”

Castiel found himself smiling back. He liked Sally. It made him a little sad to think that her shift was over. He dimly wondered who his overnight RN would be.

“Would you like to turn on the TV?” she was asking him, grabbing the remote from his bedside table.

He snorted. “I doubt I’m in any fit mental state to tackle a book, so yes, some television sounds like an excellent option.”

“Here.” RN Sally turned on the TV and started flicking through channels. “Anything in particular?”

Castiel shrugged. “Not really, I don’t have a—stop! That’s—that’s fine.”

RN Sally turned to him, gaping a little. “You like _Doctor Sexy_?”

Were he not partially sedated, Castiel would have blushed. “I. Well. Yes.”

She went all quiet for a moment before saying, “Okay, so I might just have to bring my soup up here. I thought I would have to race home to catch the end of the marathon, but—”

“Please join me, by all means,” Castiel said. “It’s the least I can do for someone who’s getting me dinner.”

RN Sally smiled again. “Sounds great.” She left the remote by his right hand. “See you in ten.” RN Sally left  his room.

Castiel had barely refocused on the episode when RN Sally reappeared in his doorway, tossing something onto his bed with a wide grin. “To tie you over.” Then she was marching down the other end of the hallway, clearly determined to get to her Chicken Tortilla Soup.

Castiel snorted and picked up the mini box of Lucky Charms. He struggled with opening the bag, but once he had his first mouthful of marshmallows, he decided that maybe being stuck in this hospital wasn’t such a bad thing after all. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> wahey introductions yaaayyyyy
> 
> also dean in scrubs *fans self*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the late update but finals are awful~~~
> 
> love ya lots and thank you so much for reading <3

Castiel swept his sixth-to-last French fry through some ketchup and considered whether or not he was imagining the growing ache in his ribs.

 _Doctor Sexy_ now seemed lackluster without RN Sally’s commentary. Castiel stifled the urge to glance at the clock again, since the time would be much less than encouraging. He swore it had been 8:30 for about an hour and a half.

Then, a deep, rough voice sailed into his room atop a pair of bowlegs. “Lucky Charms, a cheeseburger, and _Doctor Sexy_? A man after my own heart.” Wide, careful hands reached for Castiel’s chart. “How you feelin’ there, Dr. Novak?”

Castiel met the RN’s muddy-green gaze. “You’re the first person in this hospital to address me as ‘doctor.’”

The nurse cracked a grin and reached up to scratch at the three-day stubble lining his jaw. A very angular, lovely jaw, Castiel noted. “Well, that’s your name, innit? Dr. Castiel Novak,” he read aloud off the chart, “Professor of Theology at Oberlin College.”

“The _new_ Professor of Theology,” Castiel replied. “I begin in September.”

“Ahhh.” The nurse wandered over to Castiel’s heart monitor, his sharp eyes checking Castiel’s saline IV for any leaks. “So you’re the new kid.”

Castiel chuckled, noting that the nurse was missing his ID badge. How . . . unhelpful. “I suppose so.”

“And how’d the new Theology Professor wind up in a car accident?” The nurse lowered the chart to make eye contact with Castiel, whose heart leapt into his throat because holy _shit_ was this man beautiful.

“I, uh.” Castiel attempted to swallow. “Someone on his phone. He wasn’t paying attention, and he ran a red light.”

The nurse let out a low whistle. “That’s gotta suck.”

Castiel snorted. “I’ll say, especially considering that he drove off before anyone could react.”

The nurse raised his eyebrows. “Hit n’ run?”

Castiel nodded.

The nurse shook his head and finished adding something to Castiel’s chart. “I really hate people sometimes.”

“Ditto. Though you’re not so bad, yourself, despite the fact that you’ve misplaced your nametag.”

The nurse grinned again and it did something odd to Castiel’s stomach. _Too many Lucky Charms,_ he rationalized. _Lucky Charms and pain meds don’t mix._

“I’m Dean. And I’ll be your nurse this evenin’.”

“Dean,” Castiel repeated, liking the sound.

The nurse — Dean — fished around in the pants pocket of his scrubs and pulled out his ID badge. He clipped it to the pocket of his shirt. “I always forget to put on the damn thing. Sammy tells me I leave half my brain back at my house, and sometimes I believe him.” He smiled then, something soft and gentle, and Castiel experienced an odd moment of disappointment mingling with jealousy.

“Sammy?” Castiel asked, hoping that he wasn’t being too forward.

“My little brother. He’s busy gettin’ himself a law degree out at Stanford. He’s real smart. But don’t call him Sammy. Call him Sam, or he’ll make one hell of a bitchface.”

Castiel reached for another fry. “He sounds excellent.”

“Well yeah, I raised him. And I’m the awesomest dude around.” Dean replaced Castiel’s chart and eyed Castiel’s tray. “What, you’re not gonna eat the pudding?”

Castiel shook his head. He wondered whether Dean was telling the truth about raising his younger brother, because that wasn’t something that you just threw around in casual conversation. “I don’t even like pudding.”

Dean squinted at him. “In some states, that would be considered a felony.”

Castiel’s nose wrinkled. “Why. Pudding has the consistency of old soup and tastes like nothing but cheap sugar and even cheaper flavoring.”

Dean snorted. “Man, you are powerful grumpy. Like a watered-down Scrooge.”

Castiel frowned, his gaze narrowing. “I am not _grumpy_.”

Dean glanced at Castiel and chuckled. “You so are.”

Castiel tried to shrug and then immediately regretted it. “I’m just more of a —” he took a quick (and, he hoped, unnoticeable) gasp around the pain “—cake person.”

Dean gave Castiel a knowing look. “That was one awful cover-up. I’m embarrassed for you.”

Castiel avoided Dean’s gaze. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“What, like I can’t read an injury report?” Dean grabbed Castiel’s chart again and scribbled something. He glanced up, noticed the way Castiel was holding his breath, and frowned a little. “I know, bruised ribs hurt like hell, and your four hours are up. Means you can really feel ‘em. I was just waitin’ for you to show it.”

Castiel fumed silently, but Dean wasn’t wrong. He could feel his injuries much more keenly now that his meds were fading. The rough ache in his right ankle, the sharp tug whenever he breathed, the sting of the cuts along his leg. At least they were enough to distract him from Dean, because scrubs shouldn’t be that flattering.

Dean replaced Castiel’s chart and propped himself against the foot of Castiel’s bed. “I can’t tell if you’re self-destructive or just too stubborn for your own good.”

A proper scowl knit Castiel’s features, and he fought the urge to slump. “I don’t like it.”

“Huh?”

“I don’t like the pain meds. They make me feel fuzzy and disconnected. I hate feeling that way.”

Dean nodded. “I get ya, man. Broke my collarbone snowboardin’ last winter. The docs kept me on the heavy stuff for way too long. Always felt like I was swimmin’ in soup.”

“Not pudding?”

Dean chuckled. His dimples were too good to be true. “No, not pudding.” He sighed a little. “So, Doc—”

“Castiel, if you wouldn’t mind.”

Dean’s eyebrows flickered upwards. “All right, Castiel it is. This is what’s gonna happen. I’m gonna give you your next dose of meds so you can breathe OK and get some sleep. You’ve had a long day and tomorrow’s going to be rough as well, so sleep’s gonna be your best friend. If you even try to protest, I’m draggin’ your orthopod in here so she can scream at you herself.”

Castiel let out a long sigh, ignoring the way it wrenched his side. He knew Dean was lying, because his orthopod wasn’t even here, but the message was clear. “I don’t really have a choice here, do I?”

Dean grinned with a sudden, teasing boldness. “Nope.”

“Good to know. Well . . . ” Castiel turned off the TV and pushed his rolling bedside tray away from his bed. He cleared his throat and pulled the blanket further up his torso. “Do what you must.”

Something raw flickered in Dean’s face before he switched back to his huge grin. “All right. Just gimme one sec.” He turned and left Castiel’s room.

Castiel glared at the ceiling. He hated hospitals. He hated being injured. He especially hated meeting an extraordinarily beautiful person when a catheter was involved.

A minute later, Dean had returned with a small paper cup and a large glass of water to replace the one Castiel had finished with dinner. “Here.”

Castiel ignored the way their fingers brushed as he took both cups. He tossed back the pill and swallowed it with a mouthful of water.

Dean quirked an eyebrow. “Come on, Cas. Open up.”

Castiel refrained from shuddering at both the nickname _and_ the freaking double entendre and instead said, “Pardon?”

“Open your pie hole. I gotta see if you swallowed it.”

Castiel rolled his eyes but obliged. Dean took a careful look before nodding. “Clear.”

“Why was that necessary?” Castiel asked Dean, perching the cup of water on his bedside table.

“You’re not big on pain meds so I gotta make sure you take ‘em.” Dean shrugged. “I’m annoyin’ that way.”

“No, you’re not,” Castiel replied, if grudgingly. “You’re just doing your job.”

Dean grinned. “Damn straight.” He glanced at his watch and half-frowned. “Listen, Cas, I gotta finish up my rounds, but are you good here?”

Castiel nodded. His new dose was definitely starting to kick in. “Yes, thank you.” After Dean had mentioned it, Castiel had realised that he was indeed tired, and it had been one hell of a long, stressful day. He could feel himself slipping under, his grasp on consciousness drifting  further and further away. He blinked several times, wondering if there was any way he could make himself stay here, stay conscious, but his body felt  so heavy and the pillow really wasn’t all too uncomfortable . . .

The lights in his room went out and he was vaguely aware of Dean murmuring, “Just call me if you need anythin’, all right? The button’s right there.”

Castiel nodded and tried to say, “Of course,” but it came out more like, “Nnnghnmmmjrbl.”

Dean chuckled quietly. The room was so still for a moment that Castiel thought he was alone. The darkness made the room more soothing, making it easier for him to forget where he was, and the last thing he thought he could feel was a rough, warm hand brushing gently against his own.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow i'm so sorry for the late update but my parents are apparently having pre-separation anxiety and i've barely had any time to write these past couple of days. 
> 
> regardless, HAPPY CHRISTMAS!!!!! <3 hope this is a good enough gift :3
> 
> as always, thank you for reading and feedback is loved and appreciated!

_Glass and heat and blood and pain white-hot pain throttling down his leg and pooling in his heel and sirens sirens everywhere and someone’s screaming and he can’t move he can’t move he’s crushed and bound in this tin can and he can’t breathe because he can’t stand the smell of blood and rough blind hands manhandle him out of the seat and someone’s telling him he’s okay and it takes a moment before he realizes that he can’t move his foot and the ground the asphalt feels like a damp reptile curled against his body and he wonders if he couldn’t just sleep for a while no one could get mad at him for sleeping —_

Warm, insistent hands grabbed Castiel’s arms and shook him gently but purposefully and a voice was saying, “Cas. Cas. Wake up. C’mon, Cas, you gotta wake up.”

Castiel gasped awake, his limbs taut and ready to snap. “I—what’s—what’s happening?”

The voice was low and familiar. “You were havin’ a nightmare. At least, I think it was a nightmare.”

Castiel fumbled for purchase on something, slowly returning to reality. His fingers found something warm and clung onto it. “N-nightmare?”

Dean hummed. “Wasn’t it? You were kinda, y’know, upset.”

Castiel coughed, the tension slowly leaking out of his body. His room was still dark, save for the glow from his heart monitor and the fluorescent light pooling in from the hallway; the door to his room was open. “I wasn’t screaming, was I?”

Dean shook his head, and his smile seemed a little forced. “No, but it was a near thing.”

Castiel frowned and peered at what he could see of Dean’s face; half of it was in shadow. “How did you get here so quickly?”

Dean’s expression shifted into a more endearing look, and Castiel noticed their remarkable proximity. “I heard you, Doc. Cas,” he corrected quickly. “You were, um, callin’ out and thrashin’ all over your bed, and—”

“Jesus.” Castiel shook his head, ashamed and somehow angry. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” Dean repeated, blindsided. “What on earth are you sorry for?”

“For disturbing you.”

“Of all the ridiculous—” Dean shook his head. “You didn’t disturb me. This is my job, Cas. I’m not exactly meant to be catchin’ forty winks out there at the nurses’ station.”

“Regardless, I should have warned you.” Castiel sank into his pillows. “I often have issues sleeping, and it seems that the car accident only exacerbated the problem.”

Dean was looking at him with careful concern. “Issues?”

Castiel waved his free hand absentmindedly. “Nothing worth mentioning.”

“I’ll decide if it’s somethin’ worth mentionin’.” Dean’s tone was sharp.

Castiel rolled his eyes at his nurse. “It’s simply a recurring dream.”

“Recurrin’ dream or recurrin’ _nightmare_ , Cas?”

Castiel sighed. This was not worth the fight. “Don’t. Please.”

Dean exhaled, and a moment later, his posture softened. “All right. I’ll stop.” He leaned away a bit and Castiel immediately noticed the change in distance. “Are you gonna be OK?”

“Yes,” Castiel lied. “I’ll be perfectly fine. Although I’m not sure that being in a hospital is conducive to the best night’s sleep.”

Dean smirked. “I know. And I gotta wake you up in an hour, anyhow, ‘cause you’ll need your next dose.”

“How convenient.”

“Wanna watch some TV instead? Might be easier than tryin’ to sleep.” Castiel suddenly realized that Dean was being kind.

Castiel shook his head. “No, thanks. I think I’ll just doze for a bit. See if I have any epiphanies.”

Dean smiled. “Sounds like a plan, chief.” He shifted. “Guess I’d better get back to the nurses’ station.” Dean looked at Castiel expectantly, like he was waiting for something. When Castiel only peered at him in confusion, the corner of Dean’s mouth lifted. “Means you have to let go of my arm, Cas.”

Castiel flinched, releasing Dean’s arm as if he’d been burned.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” Dean told him, reading Castiel’s expression correctly. “Happens all the time.”

“Uh huh,” Castiel mumbled, not making eye contact.

Dean actually chuckled and for a moment Castiel wanted to crawl under the bed. “See you in an hour.”

Castiel didn’t trust himself to reply as he pulled the blanket further over his chest.

Dean sent Castiel a last smile as he closed the door. “Sweet dreams.”

Left in the dark with only his muted heart monitor for company, Castiel stared at the ceiling, trying to believe he was somewhere else. He’d never liked hospitals, mostly because he hated being taken care of. He wasn’t too fond of the smell, either.

He’d been in Cleveland for three weeks and he was already lying in a hospital bed. _A new personal record_ , he realized glumly. He’d made the ER before he’d made any friends, now that he was thinking of it. _But does Dean count as a friend? Probably not. I don’t know. Can you make friends with your nurse?_

 

* * *

 

A quiet chuckle. “Shoulda known you’d fall asleep.”

Castiel blinked awake and wow yeah those were definitely his ribs asserting themselves. “Wasn’t asleep,” he grumbled to the darkness. “Dozing.”

“Call it what you want, but I heard the snorin’.” Dean pressed a tiny paper cup into Castiel’s left hand and another cup of water into his right. “Here you go. Dose up.”

“I don’t snore.” Castiel scowled at what he thought was the pill. “Would you mind turning on a light?”

“No. And yeah, you do snore.” Dean pressed a button on the side of Castiel’s bed and a light immediately above the bed came on. “Good?”

Castiel nodded, trying not to stare at his nurse. _Really_ , he mentally grumbled, _scrubs shouldn't fit that well_. He tipped the pill into his mouth and took a swallow of water.

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Open up.”

Castiel rolled his eyes and obeyed. Dean nodded once, taking both of the empty cups. “You’re good. Now you can return to La-La Land.”

“Actually, I think I’d rather not,” Castiel replied. He lifted his right hand — the one without the IV in it — and pointed to the chair that contained his belongings. “Would you hand me my satchel?”

“Sure,” Dean replied, looking intrigued. “Though I gotta ask you,” he continued, handing Castiel said satchel. “Do you really think that stayin’ awake is the best thing for your health right now?”

“I don’t know, Dean,” Castiel replied, reaching into the front pocket and pulling out a small box. “That depends on whether you’re any good at Go Fish.”

Dean struggled between grinning and looking stern. “Really? Go Fish? That’s your game?”

Castiel shrugged back. “I’m useless at poker.”

“And, apparently, useless at listenin’ to your nurse, who is a licensed healthcare professional insistin’ that you go back to sleep.” Dean crossed his arms against his chest.

Castiel opened the box of cards and slid the deck into his hand. “So are you in, or are you out? Going to leave me sitting here playing Solitaire until the crack of dawn?”

Dean stared at Castiel for a good, long moment before giving in, shaking his head. “Might as well,” he grumbled, stepping out into the hallway. “Just lemme tell Garth what’s what and we can get started.” He disappeared, and Castiel heard the edges of a mumbled conversation, followed by a laugh that was definitely not Dean’s. Then, Dean reappeared and started to smile. “All right, Go Fish it is.”

 

* * *

 

“Got any sevens?”

“Go Fish.”

Dean tched and reached for the pile of cards. “Man. You weren’t kiddin’ when you said this was your game.”

Castiel shrugged. “What can I say. I’m one hell of a professional.”

Dean ruefully shook his head at the large amount of cards in his hands. “If we were playin’ poker, I’d be up fifty bucks by now.”

Castiel ignored him. “Do you have any queens?”

“And again.” Dean handed Castiel the card, which Castiel paired with his own and put next to the other pairs on the bed. “Y’know, Cas, I gotta ask, why theology?”

Castiel blinked and met Dean’s gaze. “Well . . . ” He cleared his throat. “It’s kind of a long story.”

Dean glanced down at his hand of cards and shrugged. “I’m not about to win anytime soon.” He smiled at Castiel. “We’ve got some time.”

“I was raised by profoundly religious parents,” Castiel began, “and I was the youngest of four children, so I was expected to follow as they followed, behave as they behaved. Everything was centered around church and faith — my father would read scripture to us at the dinner table, or for an hour after dinner on Sundays. I know,” he added, in response to Dean’s expression. “It was a lot to handle.”

“So did you always believe?” Dean asked of him. “Did you have faith in the man upstairs?”

Castiel smiled at the euphemism. “When I was younger, I did have faith, or, at least, I thought I did. But my parents were the extreme sort. During my adolescence I came to the realization that my beliefs and my parents’ beliefs did not align, and that led to a sort of break in the family. It sounds terribly cliche, but that was when everything changed between me and my parents, and me and my siblings. For a while, I regarded religion with the greatest abhorrence, and I hated anything to do with the Bible.”

“So how’d you end up as a Professor of Theology? If you hated religion so much?”

“I realized that there were other religions out there. And, upon exploring them, I discovered that some of those religions offered truths that were more appealing to me than those of the Christian God. I never really regained my faith, but it was an enlightening experience.” Castiel shrugged. “I also tried looking on the Bible as a work of literature instead of a book of judgment, and then it became terribly engrossing. I’ve read it at least a dozen times.”

Dean let out a low whistle. “That’s impressive.”

Castiel chuckled. “Not particularly, when you’re in my field. Anyway, I got to college and I started taking courses on Religion and the History of Religion, and that was when it sort of hit me, when I realized that there was nothing I’d rather study. It was a big moment for me, to realize that the very thing I’d dedicated so many years to hating had become my passion. Anyway, I went through grad school, got my doctorate, taught out in Massachusetts for a while, and then Oberlin gave me a call.” He smiled. “I’ve only been in Cleveland for a few weeks now.”

Dean smiled back. “And you’ve already got yourself into a car accident . . . Cas, that’s some story.”

“I suppose. It sounds a lot more interesting than it actually was.”

Dean’s gaze seemed hesitant. “Can I ask what your realization was? The thing that made you realize you didn’t believe what your parents believed?”

“I, um.” Castiel swallowed. He’d never told a stranger this before, but quickly discovered that he didn’t give two shits about telling Dean. “It was — I came to terms with my sexuality. And my parents’ opinions didn’t exactly . . . favor . . . the person I was.”

Dean raised his eyebrows. “Huh.”

Castiel lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. “It’s the stuff of a soap opera—”

“No,” Dean cut in. “No, it isn’t.”

Castiel met his gaze and smiled tentatively. They sat there in companionable silence for a few moments before Dean cleared his throat and looked down at his cards. “Got any sixes?”

Castiel huffed and handed over his six. Dean cackled happily and added the pair to his pile.

“So, Dean, now you owe _me_ an explanation.”

Dean grinned down at his cards. “Oh, do I?”

“Yes. Tell me, how did you become a nurse?”

Dean stiffened, almost imperceptibly, before thumbing through his cards. “Got any twos?” he asked, his voice losing its joking air. He didn’t make eye contact with Castiel.

Castiel sat back, realizing that Dean didn’t trust him very much. _My_ , he thought, _that’s one hell of a wall_. He handed over his two of spades, causing Dean to smile just a little, and resolved to leave the matter alone.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> endless gratitude to my lovely beta, hubrisandwax! you should all send her llama slippers and hugs.

Castiel cut himself another piece of pancake and wondered whether he preferred Iron Man over Captain America. _Regardless_ , he thought, _they should just get a room already_.

“The _Avengers_?” Dean piped up, leaning in Castiel’s doorway. “Didn’t peg you for a Marvel kind of man.”

Castiel smiled down at his plate. “It was the best option.”

“Yeah, sure. Next thing you’ll be tellin’ me that you’ve harbored a secret crush for Clint Barton since you were twelve.”

Castiel shot Dean a look. “It was Spiderman, and I was eleven.”

Dean laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Castiel was glad for this, for their easy bantering. A small part of him had been worried that Dean would react badly to finding out that Castiel wasn’t exactly straight, but nothing had changed. If anything, they were more comfortable around each other.

“Anyway,” Dean was saying, shaking his wrist to look at his watch. “I’m here ‘cause my shift ends in an hour and I thought I’d remind you that you’re gonna be discharged around eleven, maybe noon if the PT is runnin’ late. Means you’re gonna need someone to pick you up.”

Castiel put down his fork, the piece of pancake in his mouth suddenly feeling very dry. He swallowed roughly. “I’m just going to have the desk call me a cab.”

Dean raised an eyebrow at him. “You’ve got a broken ankle and bruised ribs.”

Castiel fiddled with his napkin. “So?”

“So, you’re gonna be new to the whole crutches thing, and you’re gonna need some help.” Dean shook his head. “Just catchin’ a cab is a bad idea.”

Castiel sighed. “Dean, I’m new to this city. I don’t even know my neighbors.” He shook his head. “There’s no one for me to call.”

Dean watched him for a good long moment, the room silent. In the background, Tony was in the middle of telling Dr. Banner that he needed to strut.

Dean glanced at his watch again, his forehead puckering as his mouth did something between a frown and a grimace. “Where d’you live?” he asked Castiel, his voice gruff.

“I, um.” Castiel blinked. “About ten minutes from here.”

Dean nodded. “Yeah, I’m drivin’ you home.”

Castiel actually felt his jaw drop. “I — you — what?!”

“I’m not about to let you take a cab, ‘specially after you’ve been in a freakin’ car accident.” Dean met Castiel’s gaze and shook his head. “Listen, you don’t know anyone here yet, and you need some help.” He shrugged. “I’m a nurse. I like helpin’ people.”

“Dean, I—” Castiel struggled for the words. “I can’t accept that offer. That’s asking far too much of you. You just worked a twelve-hour shift, for crying out loud!”

Dean half-smiled. “So I’ll go home and catch a few hours’ sleep before I come pick you up. Simple as that.”

Castiel stared at him before saying, “No. Absolutely not. I can’t—”

“Well, tough, ‘cause I’m gonna roll up in front of this hospital whether you like it or not.” Dean held Castiel’s gaze for another moment before slumping a little. “C’mon man,” he said, his voice softer. “Let me help you.”

 

* * *

 

Castiel eyed the crutches with distaste.

The physical therapist chuckled. “Glaring at them won’t make them go away, Dr. Novak.”

“I know,” he sighed. “But it was worth a shot.”

Still smiling, the physical therapist offered him her arm. “C’mon. Let’s get you started.”

His eyes caught her nametag as she helped him stand up. “Thank you, Dr. Bradbury.”

“You’re most welcome. Now.” She used her free hand to reach for the crutches. She tucked them under Castiel’s armpits and he instinctively caught hold of the hand grips. “How does that feel?”

Castiel considered. “Somewhat uncomfortable.”

Dr. Bradbury looked him over, brushing her short fringe out of her eyes. “They’re a little tall,” she said, crouching in front of him. He couldn’t see what she was doing, but then there was an odd popping sound, and his left crutch dropped an inch or so before clicking back into place. She did the same thing to his right crutch, and Castiel realized that he wasn’t so uncomfortable anymore. “That’s much better,” he acknowledged, and Dr. Bradbury straightened up with a grin.

She spent the next twenty minutes showing him how to use the crutches, even taking him out into the stairwell so he could learn how to go up and down stairs. Castiel wasn’t fond of the way the crutches rubbed under his arms, but he was grateful for the mobility.

“Yup,” Dr. Bradbury was saying as she watched him swing himself around the hallway outside his room. The nurse behind the desk — Jo, Castiel remembered — grinned at him as he went by. “I think you’re ready to go. You’re a fast learner,” she added, giving him a smile.

He smiled back. “Let’s just say that I’m very ready to get out of here.”

She chuckled, walking with him back to his room. “I can’t blame you. Hospitals can be pretty suffocating.” He looked at her in surprise — was everyone in this hospital so open with their patients? “So you’re on these for six weeks, aren’t you?” she continued.

He nodded, sitting back down in his armchair. “And I’m very excited about it.”

She laughed. “Who wouldn’t be?” She looked down at his chart and added a few things before signing off. “Well, you’re good to go, Castiel. Just remember to be careful on the stairs and take it slow, all right?”

“I will,” he promised.

“Do you have someone to pick you up?” she asked him. “Someone to help you out? Things can be a little difficult until you get used to being on crutches.”

Castiel swallowed. “Um.” He mentally scrambled for an answer. “I, um. Yes. Kind of. Maybe.”

Dr. Bradbury raised an eyebrow.

“I can take care of myself,” Castiel assured her.

“Uh huh,” she replied, unconvinced. “Do you at least have a ride home?”

“I . . . I think so. A friend.” Castiel belatedly wondered if he could call Dean his friend.

“Good.” Dr. Bradbury nodded in approval. “It’d be worth asking that friend if you can rely on them when you need help.” She shrugged. “Takes a village.”

Castiel cocked his head to one side. “But I’m not raising a child.”

Dr. Bradbury smiled.

 

* * *

 

“C’mon, Castiel.” Jo used her foot to engage the wheelchair’s brake. “Time to go.”

He squinted at the wheelchair. “But I have crutches.”

She shrugged. “Them’s the rules.”

A few minutes later, they were waiting for the elevator, Castiel clutching his new crutches and his stomach fluttering at the idea of Dean potentially waiting out there on the curb for him.

“So how are you feeling?” Jo asked him. “Better, or kinda crappy?”

Castiel almost smiled. “Better, I think. Or that might just be the pain meds.”

He heard her chuckle. “I know what you mean.” The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. Jo wheeled him in and turned him around in one practiced, fluid motion. “That was very well done,” he said to her, and he could practically hear her smirk.

Castiel had braced himself for the heat and humidity but it still hit him like a wall. He exhaled, squinting in the sudden sunshine. It was blinding; he could barely see a thing beyond the overhang of the hospital.

“Here he is!” Jo called out to someone. “With crutches and everything!”

Castiel heard a very familiar laugh, and as his eyes adjusted to the light, he saw a huge old black car shining against the curb, its driver leaning against the passenger side and wearing one hell of a grin.

“Dean.” He tried to scowl but wasn’t sure he succeeded. “I thought I told you—”

“Thanks, Jo,” Dean said, completely ignoring Castiel. He stepped closer, and Castiel noticed with a vague burn of annoyed resignation that when it came to Dean, jeans and a t-shirt were just as flattering as scrubs. “How’re things up there?”

“All quiet,” she replied, sliding Castiel’s satchel off her shoulder and handing it to Dean. “I wouldn’t let him carry it,” she explained at Dean’s questioning look. “There are about ten books in there and he had his new crutches to worry about.”

“There aren’t ten books,” Castiel grumbled. “Maybe two at most.”

“Whatever you say, Professor,” Dean replied. He turned back to his car, pulling open the back door and sliding Castiel’s satchel onto the seat. Then he reached forward and opened the passenger door, turning back to face Castiel. “You ready?”

Castiel frowned. “I’m still not—”

“Jeez, Cas,” Jo cut in, “he’s already here. Just go with him already.”

Castiel shifted around to look at her. “Were you in on this?”

She smiled. “Who do you think called Dean and told him when you were getting discharged?”

Castiel blinked. “I’m sensing a conspiracy.”

Dean chuckled. “You would. C’mon, Professor. Let’s get you home.”

 

* * *

 

“All right, Cas,” Dean was saying as he pulled out of the hospital’s front drive, “before we get on our way, answer me this: how much food do you have at home, and do you have any medical supplies?”

Castiel side-eyed the hell out of him. “That’s two questions.”

Dean grinned. “And that’s what I thought you’d say.” He turned onto West 25th. “Let’s get you to Dave’s.”

“Dean, wait,” Castiel protested, “I can’t let you just—”

Dean actually rolled his eyes. “Stuff it, Cas. I’m offerin’, and it’s not like I had anything else to do with my day.” He glanced at Castiel. “I’m gonna have to make a new rule against protestin’. I’m here because I want to help you Cas, so stop tryin’ to talk me out of it.” He shook his head. “It isn’t wrong to need help.”

Castiel stared at him. It seemed that Dean was going to have his own way regardless of what Castiel thought. “Um. Okay.”

 

* * *

 

Dean frowned at the contents of the shopping cart. “Man. You’re really into the rabbit food.”

“Yes,” Castiel replied from where he was peering at a selection of potatoes. “Don’t you see my massive ears and fluffy white tail?”

“Funny.” Dean was grinning as he wheeled the cart closer to Castiel. “Do you cook?”

Castiel nodded. “But I’m a better baker.”

Dean went very still. “D’you . . . um. D’you make pie?”

“Yes. I’m actually very good at making pies.” Castiel swung a small bag of potatoes into the cart before using his crutches to continue down the aisle. “My apple pie actually won a local competition back in the day.”

Dean made a small sound in the back of his throat and squeezed his eyes shut. “Jesus.”

 

* * *

 

Dean started the engine and Led Zeppelin filtered through the speakers. “All right, Prof. Where to?”

“2154 Fulton Road.”

Dean stopped, staring at him. “Really?”

Castiel frowned a little. “Yes. Why?”

“‘Cause I live on Fulton. 2153.”

Now it was Castiel’s turn to stare. “What?”

Dean let out a laugh. “Yeah! Hey.” He nudged Castiel’s knee. “Looks like we’re neighbors, man.”

When Dean pulled to a stop in front of Castiel’s house, it was with a disbelieving grin. “Man,” he said as he stepped out of the car (“She’s my Baby,” he’d told Castiel earlier), “what’re the odds?”

“Don’t ask me,” Castiel replied as he hoisted himself out of the passenger seat. “I’m no mathematician.”

Dean shook his head and opened the trunk. “And somehow, you’re still grumpy.”

Castiel sighed as he pulled his satchel out of the backseat. “Am not.”

“Are too,” Dean replied, managing to lift all the bags of groceries at once.

“I can help with that, you know,” Castiel said.

“No, you can’t,” Dean replied. He jerked his chin in the direction of a small yellow house across the street. “That’s my place.” He shook his head. “I still can’t believe we ended up livin’ across the street from each other.”

“You work the night shifts, don’t you?”

Dean kept pace with Castiel as they walked up Castiel’s front path. “Most of the time, yeah.”

“Then that explains why we haven’t seen each other very often. Or, you know, met.”

Dean considered this before shrugging. “I s’pose that’s true.”

Castiel reached into his satchel for his house keys, and a moment later, they were standing in his front entryway. He gestured towards the back of the house. “The kitchen’s in that direction.”

“Awesome,” Dean replied, trying to be very sneaky about cataloguing Castiel’s house. It was slightly messy, mostly because he still hadn’t bothered to finish unpacking from the move, but also because he was often a tad disorganized. Castiel found the sight of sloppy piles of books and empty forgotten mugs of coffee somehow comforting.

“That’s the last of it,” Dean said as he tucked the green beans into the vegetable drawer. He straightened up with a sigh and closed Castiel’s refrigerator.

“Thank you so much, Dean,” Castiel said for the sixth time that day. “I very much appreciate your helping me. It was a very kind and generous thing for you to do.”

Dean waved away his gratitude. “S’nothin’, man.” He reached up to cover a yawn, and a small piece of Castiel deflated.

“You’re tired,” Castiel stated. “I’m sorry. I’d forgotten that you just worked the entire night. Please, don’t let me keep you any longer.”

Dean made a face. “Quit apologizin’. I mean . . .” He rubbed the back of his neck in what Castiel recognized to be a nervous gesture. “I can’t hang around much longer ‘cause I do have to work tonight, but,” he said pointedly before Castiel could interrupt, “tomorrow is my day off.” Dean glanced at Castiel with hesitation, briefly worrying his bottom lip with his teeth. “If you’d like some company . . .”

Castiel gave him a small smile. “That would be very nice, Dean. Thank you.”

When Castiel saw Dean to the door a few moments later, he did so with a nervous flutter in his gut, like he’d been going downstairs and missed a step. He wasn’t used to having friends, he wasn’t used to having crushes, and he certainly wasn’t used to having a crush on a nurse who had just scrawled his cell phone number across the top of Castiel’s cast. When Dean turned on the porch of his own house to give Castiel a smile and wave, Castiel had to catch his breath, because he wasn’t sure what he was getting himself into, but he had a feeling that he would like it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and yes, 2153 and 2154 fulton road in cleveland, ohio actually exist. as does dave's supermarket. you can google maps the addresses and actually see the houses i've made to be dean's and castiel's :D if any of you actually live in cleveland, i'm sorry if any of this is inaccurate and for cyber-stalking your city <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you follow the gregorian calendar, happy new year! <3

“I, uh.” Dean swallowed. “I didn’t know you had a cat.”

“That’s because she’s not always fond of meeting new people.” Castiel observed the way Bastet was winding around Dean’s legs and purring loudly. “But she appears to like you.”

Dean sneezed.

Castiel raised an eyebrow. “Are you allergic?”

“ _No_ ,” Dean replied pointedly, and Castiel made a mental note to see if he had some Claritin in the medicine cabinet. “I just can’t believe you named your cat after a—”

“Theology geek, remember?”

“Oh, yeah.” Dean sidestepped Bastet and smirked at Castiel. “So, are you lettin’ me in, or what?”

Castiel frowned at him. “I don’t understand. You’re already in my house.”

“Not what I meant, Cas,” Dean shot over his shoulder as he stalked into the kitchen, Bastet trotting close behind. A vague scent of peanuts emanated from the plastic bag hanging from his right hand.

Castiel huffed and followed, a bit slower on his crutches. “What’s in the bag, Dean?”

“A surprise.” Dean dropped the plastic bag on Castiel’s kitchen table.

“Do you always do this?”

“Do what?”

“Make yourself at home?”

Dean shot Castiel a grin and opened one of his cabinets. “Kinda. That okay?”

Castiel almost smiled. “It’s fine.”

The first night on his own had been rough. Instead of just knocking him out, the pain meds had only made his dreams weirder, and Castiel was hopping around with only about five hours of sleep. He’d spent half the night and most of the day working through his collection of old movies, halfway convinced that watching _Singing in the Rain_ three times in a row would make designing his syllabus much easier. Said syllabus had consumed the other part of his day, and his living and dining rooms were covered in different religious texts, some of them yawning open and others perched on corners of tables and chairs. It had been a good enough distraction from the phone number burning through the top of his cast. But, when a knock had come at his door just at the edge of sundown, Castiel had had his question answered for him.

Castiel blinked at the white containers sitting on top of his kitchen table. “Did you bring me food?”

“Yes,” Dean replied as he pulled two plates out of the cabinet by the sink. “I hope you like Pad Thai.”

“Dean, I—”

“For God’s sake, Cas,” Dean interrupted, finding the right drawer and grabbing a few forks and spoons. “You’re on crutches. I’m not about to let you cook.” He shot Castiel a look. “That would be violatin’ my Hippocratic Oath.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow. “Funny. I know you take the Nightingale Oath.”

Dean gave Castiel a shit-eating grin and popped open the lid of one container. Steam burst out of a large pile of orange noodles garnished with a variety of lettuce, onions, and bean sprouts. Bastet licked her lips. Dean began shoveling the noodles onto one plate, creating an ample portion, before repeating the process with the other container.

Castiel inhaled slowly and wavered on his crutches. He did like Pad Thai.

“All right.” Dean turned, a plate in each hand. “Where do we eat?”

Castiel blushed a little. “Well, um, the dining table is—”

“Covered in Bibles, yeah, I saw,” Dean supplied for him, smiling again. “Livin’ room?”

“Actually, I’ve spent all day inside, and I’m kind of getting cabin fever—”

“Say no more.” Dean carefully stepped away from Bastet and paused by Castiel’s fridge. “D’you have any soda?”

That was how they ended up sitting on Castiel’s porch, tucked under the awning and against the house, away from the street and any curious eyes. The Pad Thai was excellent, and they shared Castiel’s last can of Dr. Pepper (“Ugh, your taste in soda is awful,” Dean had said) and chatted as the sun went down. Castiel heard about Dean’s most recent shift and the latest hospital drama (“If Crowley and Abby don’t stop goin’ at each other’s throats I’m gonna—”) and he entertained Dean with abridged versions of Egyptian mythology, making Dean laugh until he wheezed. The crickets started up just as the sky began to purple, and the soft yellow-orange glow emanating from Castiel’s windows highlighted the freckles scattered across Dean’s nose and cheeks. Castiel watched the way Dean’s nose twitched when he spoke and felt a small, inner part of himself ache.

Dean gently bumped Castiel’s knee with his  knuckles. “So how’re you feelin’, Cas?”

Castiel snorted. “Like I fell down the stairs twice and spent the night in a ditch.”

Dean choked on a laugh. “Someone’s optimistic.”

Castiel chuckled. “I’m injured. I have a right to bitch about it.”

“I guess you do.” Dean took a sip of his soda, humming a little as he looked out into the evening.

“Dean?"

Dean turned to look at Castiel. “Yeah, Cas?”

Castiel held his gaze for a moment before continuing: “Why are you being so nice to me? I mean, I haven’t—” He shook his head. “I haven’t done anything to warrant it.”

Dean stared at him for almost half a minute before pursing his lips. “Cas, you’ve got a broken foot—”

“—ankle—”

“—and you don’t know a damn person in this city,” Dean continued as if Castiel had never interjected. He shook his head. “I’ve told you that about ten times by now, Cas. Don’t ask me to tell you again.”

Castiel blinked, surprised yet again by Dean’s kindness. “I . . . okay.”

Dean sent him a hesitant smile before clapping his hands together. “Now. When’re you gonna let me take a Sharpie to that thing?”

 

* * *

 

“Make ‘em laugh, make ‘em laugh,” Dean mumbled along to the film, tracing an outline of what looked like Bugs Bunny onto Castiel’s cast. “Dontcha know everyone wants to laugh—”

“You belong on the stage.”

Dean elbowed Castiel’s arm. “Asshat.”

“No, I’m serious,” Castiel continued over Donald O’Connor’s dancing. “I can see it now: bright lights, huge stage, hand-painted scenery—”

“Stuff it, Cas,” Dean said, but he was grinning. “Y’know, I never pegged you for a Gene Kelly type of guy.”

“I have a refined taste."

Dean snorted, finishing off Bugs Bunny. “There ya go.” At this point, Castiel’s cast sported a host of different Loony Tunes characters and a couple of Smurfs.

Castiel leaned forward to take a look at the drawing. “I like it.” He smiled. “You’re good at this.”

“Eh.” Dean shrugged, reaching for his glass of water. “It’s just a doodle.”

“Replicating Bugs Bunny does take some artistic talent.”

“Whatever you say, Cas.” Dean shook his head, but he was smiling as he uncapped the Sharpie again. “How d’you feel about Marvin the Martian?”

“I doubt I have a say in the matter,” Castiel replied drily.

“Too true.” Dean set to work, his hand careful as he sketched out the preliminary outlines. “Have you changed your dressings yet today?”

“I, um. You mean for my cuts?”

“Yeah.”

Castiel swallowed. “Yes. I changed them this morning.”

Dean let out a long breath, still intent on his work. “You haven’t gotten any better at lyin’.”

“I—I’m not lying.”

“Uh huh, sure.” The corner of Dean’s mouth twitched. “At least I know you’re takin’ your meds.”

“How can you tell?”

“If you weren’t, you’d be lyin’ in bed, moanin’ and gripin’ for all you’re worth.”

“You make me sound so dramatic!”

“That’s ‘cause you are, Cas.” Dean finished the last line on Marvin’s hat before capping the Sharpie and lifting his expectant gaze to Castiel’s. “All right. Where’re the bandages?”

 

* * *

 

Castiel exhaled slowly, trying not to think about the way Dean was kneeling next to him, gently rubbing Hydrogen Peroxide over the cuts along Castiel’s leg. The space between them seemed to hum, though with what Castiel was unsure. One thing he did know was that his interest in Dean wasn’t going anywhere, and that he was setting himself up for a long bout of unrequited pining.

“So tell me,” Dean was saying, his voice low as he shifted his attention from Castiel’s knee to Castiel’s calf. “If you’re all alone in Cleveland, where’s your family?”

“My sister’s in Massachusetts and my brother’s in California.” Castiel shook his head. “My other brother… I’m not sure where he is.”

Dean had lifted his gaze to Castiel’s, his eyes tight with concern. “All right,” he said slowly, “I might need a bit more of an explanation than that.”

Castiel smiled without humor. “I only speak with two of my siblings. Anna, who lives in Boston, and Gabe, who’s making pastry out in Los Angeles. My eldest brother, Michael, I haven’t heard from in…” He shook his head. “It’s not important.”

“No parents?” Dean asked, his voice soft.

Castiel shook his head. “My father left when I was eight, and my mother passed away in my junior year of college. It’s just us kids now.”

“Cas… I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Castiel replied. “It all happened a long time ago.”

“Why don’t you talk to Michael?” Dean sat back on his heels, the Hydrogen Peroxide apparently forgotten.

Castiel sighed. “Let’s just say that Michael always had a mind for the family business. He didn’t approve of my different educational pursuits. And he followed my parents’ belief system, so when he found out that I was… different, he informed me that I was a disgrace to the family name and the family business before severing all contact with me.” He shrugged. “Really, it didn’t matter all that much. I was never close to him and he was always an assbutt.”

Dean appeared to stifle a chuckle before saying, “All the same, Cas, that sucks. That’s not how family should work.”

“I’m fine with what I have, Dean. Gabe and Anna have always supported me, and while they can be a bit… embarrassing, I’m grateful for them.” He raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you grateful for Sam?”

Dean cracked a grin. “Yeah, I am.” He seemed to roll something over in his mind before clearing his throat and continuing. “It’s always been just me and him. Kind of a dynamic duo thing, y’know?”

Castiel watched him for a moment before gently asking, “No parents?”

Dean shook his head. “My mom, uh . . . There was a fire. I was four.” He cleared his throat quickly. “My dad kind of lost it after that. He kept on chasin’ jobs, draggin’ me and Sammy across the country. And he drank.” Dean chewed on his bottom lip. “Everythin’ finally caught up to him when I was about fourteen. Wrapped his car around a tree.” Dean seemed to brighten a little. “That’s when Bobby took us in. He was an old friend of our dad’s, and he’d known us since we were kids.” He smiled. “Taught me everythin’ I know about cars, helped me put my dad’s Impala back together.” Ah, Castiel noted, that must be Baby. “And we sent Sammy off to Stanford. And now he’s gettin’ his law degree.”

“I’m sorry you had to go through that, Dean.”

Dean glanced up, holding Castiel’s gaze for a painfully long moment before returning his attention to Castiel’s leg. “Y’know,” he said, somewhat gruff as he wrapped gauze around the cuts, “I have the weekend off. I could . . . come over sometime, if you like.”

Castiel’s heart picked up in tempo as he grinned down at Dean. “I’d like that very much.”

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you all should bow down before hubrisandwax because she's just a goddess ok
> 
> enjoy <3

Dean: meg and i just got into a 30 min argument about star wars

Castiel: sounds like you’re hard at work

Dean: dude its the witching hour shift. everyones asleep.

Dean: except u apparently

Castiel: what were you arguing about?

Dean: original trilogy vs. second trilogy. she thinks the prequels r better but shes so wrong.

Castiel: I’ve never seen them. what’s so bad about the second trilogy?

Dean: …

Dean: oh my shit

Dean: r u telling me

Dean: that youve never seen star wars?????

Castiel: um

Dean: ok thats it

Dean: i figured out what we’re doing this wkend

Castiel: … god help me.

 

* * *

 

 

 

Castiel groaned into a couch cushion. “I think my brain has melted.”

Dean chuckled. “Nah, that’s just good filmmakin’.” He grabbed another handful of popcorn, although how he still had room for more food was a mystery to Castiel. “So did you like it?”

“Yes,” Castiel replied, “if ‘it’ refers to all three movies.”

“Ready for the next one?” Dean pulled yet another DVD out of his bag, grinning.

Castiel waved his hand in the general direction of the TV. “Go for it.”

Dean chuckled and made his way over to Castiel’s DVD player. “I still can’t believe you’ve never seen these.”

Castiel shrugged, his hand buried in Bastet’s tummy fur. “In my house, it was more Brandenburg Concertos than pop culture.”

Dean paused, hand hovering over the DVD player. “Seriously?”

Castiel began whistling the first Brandenburg Concerto, stopping when Dean’s smile made his own grin hard to fight.

“That’s actually kind of pretty.”

 _So are you._ Castiel bit his tongue. “I have a soft spot for the Baroque period. And classical music in general.”

Dean shook his head and loaded up the DVD. Castiel tried to ignore the way Dean’s shirt rode up his back and exposed a line of slightly tanned skin. “Looks like you need more’n just a movie education,” Dean said.

“Ditto. Have you ever actually heard of Orson Welles?”

Dean grinned, reclaiming his spot on the couch. “No, but I bet you’ll make sure that I do.”

Bastet, purring loudly, rolled away from Castiel’s hand and took a few slow steps out of her owner’s lap and towards Dean, who was watching her with wide eyes. “Why,” he hissed.

“I told you she likes you.” Castiel was momentarily glad that he’d handed Dean two Claritins not two hours before.

“Yeah, but can she…” Dean visibly tensed as Bastet took a step into his lap, her front paws pressing into his thigh. “Can she not?” he squeaked.

“It looks like you don’t have a choice,” Castiel replied, doing his utmost not to laugh.

Dean made the noise of a blocked foghorn as Bastet stepped fully into his lap, staring up at him and leaning in to give his chin a good sniff. Apparently satisfied, she turned on the spot and settled down, tucking her paws underneath the front of her body and purring louder than before.

“Dean,” Castiel said, very seriously. “I think you have a new girlfriend.”

 

* * *

 

At some point, Castiel lost track of the plot of _The Phantom Menace_ and focused mainly on the way light was flickering across the TV screen and playing along Dean’s hands and arms. Castiel could feel the warmth emanating from Dean’s body, how it filled the space between them. Said space seemed to have been shrinking over the course of the evening, although he didn’t remember ever moving or feeling Dean move. Regardless, Castiel’s couch hadn’t been big to begin with, and now there were only a few inches between himself and his ex-nurse, and Castiel was very much aware of how easy it would be to lean in and close that space.

He gave himself a mental shake and wondered whether it would be worth telling Dean that he was falling asleep, but everything was so warm and he loved the way Dean was smiling at the screen and occasionally mouthing the lines and really what was the harm in closing his eyes for just a minute…

Something fell to the floor with a _thunk_ and Castiel’s eyes flew open.

“Shit,” came Dean’s muttered curse, and he gave Castiel an apologetic look. “That was the cat’s fault, not mine.”

Castiel suddenly became aware of how close Dean’s face was to his, his green eyes shining in the residual light of the TV. He also realized that his head was resting on something very warm and very shelf-like — he’d fallen asleep with his head on Dean’s shoulder.

Castiel jerked backwards, doing a very sloppy job of scrambling towards the other end of the couch. He kept on backing away, his hands reaching behind him. “Dean, I’m—I’m so—”

Dean was chuckling under his breath, holding his hands up in a placating gesture. “Easy there, twitchy. S’not the first time someone’s fallen asleep on me.”

Castiel’s hand missed the couch arm just as his leg slid off the cushions and he had a brief sensation of falling before he hit the floor with a loud _THUD_. “Ow,” he mumbled into his floorboards, feeling distinct pain in at least two thirds of his body.

Practiced and insistent hands were suddenly guiding him away from the floor, checking Castiel’s ribs for further damage and nudging against his cheekbones as Dean muttered, “—of all the ridiculous—” He pushed Castiel into a sitting position against the side of the couch and continued to check for injuries.

Castiel blinked, the face in front of him coming further into focus as he fully woke up. He belatedly realized that Dean probably thought he was an idiot and tried to refocus on what Dean was saying.

“—feelin’ all right, Cas? Are you dizzy? Nauseous? Ears ringin’? How ‘bout your ribs, is the pain worse or about the same? What about your foot? Is it—?”

“I’m fine, Dean,” Castiel replied, his voice rough and slightly slurred. He almost couldn’t meet that piercing green gaze. “Nothing hurts more than it should. And I’m not dizzy or anything.”

Dean let out a quick exhale. “Good,” he said, sounding like he meant it. “You had me worried there.”

Castiel tried to smile, noticing the absence of Dean’s hands on his body and hating it. “Just me being an idiot. Sorry about falling asleep.”

Dean grinned and ducked his head, looking for a moment like the most sheepish ten year-old in the world. “It’s okay. They’re long movies, and it’s gettin’ late.”

They stayed there for a moment in the dim light, keeping eye contact but not saying anything. Castiel once again became painfully aware of their proximity and glanced down at Dean’s mouth, not noticing Dean doing the same to him, before turning to reach for his crutches. He gave Dean half a smile. “Any chance I could have some help?”

Dean twitched, almost like he was trying to rid his hair of water, and relaxed into a grin. “Sure thing, Cas.” He offered Castiel his arms, which Castiel grabbed like a handrail to avoid touching Dean’s hands, and slowly pulled Castiel to his feet. Castiel exhaled at the tug on his ribs and gladly accepted the crutches from Dean.

Dean was scrutinizing Castiel’s torso, as if he wasn’t entirely convinced that Castiel was unscatched. “Well, I’m not thrilled about you fallin’ like that, but at least it happened while I was here.”

“My hero,” Castiel deadpanned, using his crutches to take a small step away from Dean. _Better safe than—_

Dean rubbed the back of his neck before sidestepping, reaching for the DVDs scattered across the coffee table among the ruins of a movie-watching feast. He cleared his throat, not looking at Castiel, and turned off the TV as he stuffed the DVDs into his bag.

Castiel blinked and hobbled over to his stereo, which was tucked into the corner among a few shelves that contained the CDs he listened to often enough to unpack right away. He rifled through them for a moment before pulling out a CD whose case had cracked long ago. He smiled down at it and turned around in time to see Dean tugging on his leather coat, which he seemed to persistently wear despite the humidity.

“Here.” Castiel held out the CD.

Dean glanced down at the CD, his mouth twitching into a smile. “No way.”

“I, um, I thought—” Castiel cleared his throat. “You’ve got a lot of downtime during the night shift, so I thought that this might, I don’t know, be a nice soundtrack or something.”

Dean shook his head but kept on smiling. “Y’know, I’ve never listened to classical music. Well, not on purpose.”

“Then maybe this is a good place to start,” Castiel replied.

Dean looked up from Castiel’s favorite recording of the Brandenburg concertos, his gaze genuine. “Yeah. Maybe it is.”

 

* * *

 

Castiel peered at the ducks, wondering if soggy bread really was that delicious.

He hadn’t ventured far into Cleveland, mostly preoccupied with unpacking, designing his course on world religions, and being an introvert. But he had taken enough clearing-his-mind walks to know that there was a small park just a few streets away from his house, a park with both a swimming pool and a duck pond.

He’d always had a certain fondness for ducks, probably something to do with how they seemed so serene and content to just paddle for hours on end. And they never minded stale bread.

After spending three hours building his course and another hour fruitlessly trying to take a nap, Castiel had given up on staying inside, grabbed a bag of last week’s bread, and sent a quick text. While the walk to the park had been a lot less enjoyable with crutches involved (Castiel swore he could feel new bruises growing under his armpits every time he took a step), Castiel was glad for the sunshine, even if the day was unbearably warm.

“Ducks, huh?” said a voice to his left.

Castiel nodded, crumbling another hunk of bread and scattering it into the water. “They’re the only ones who like my stale bread.”

Dean’s hand appeared out of nowhere, diving into the bag of bread and tearing off a piece.

“Dean!”

“Waste not, want not.” Dean grinned, stuffing a corner of bread into his mouth. He chewed for a moment before his jaw slackened. “Cas.”

“Yes?”

“Did you make this bread?”

“Yeah, last week.”

Dean nodded to himself before reaching for another hunk.

Castiel spluttered but couldn’t keep himself from grinning. “Save some for the ducks!”

“Nuh-uh,” Dean said through bulging cheeks, “they don’t deserve shit this good.”

“It’s stale. I can’t imagine what you find so ‘good’ about it.” Castiel tossed another couple of chunks to the ducks, who snapped up the bread the moment it hit the water.

“You’ve got a magic touch, Cas,” Dean replied after swallowing his mouthful. “And you can’t let beauty like this go to waste.”

Castiel snorted. “And you say I’m the dramatic one.”

Dean grinned around the bread. “That’s ‘cause you are.” He looked at Castiel for a moment before saying, “So how’d you sleep?”

“Fine,” Castiel replied, hoping he was better at lying. “The pain meds helped.”

“Right.” Dean sounded unconvinced.

A comfortable silence opened between them and remained until Dean spoke again. “You know, I’ve been living in Cleveland for goin’ on three years now, and this is the first time I’ve been to this park.” He cast his gaze around them, taking in the trees and grass and nearby bed of flowers. “It’s actually not half bad.”

“I like it here.” Castiel forced himself to focus on the cluster of baby ducks that had just slid into the pond. An occasional breeze kept blowing Dean’s scent in his face — an odd combination of old leather, soap, and metal — and it was very distracting. “It’s quiet, and there aren’t any deep allegories to dig through.”

He could hear Dean’s smirk. “Amen to that, man.” He finished off his piece of bread before asking, “So what’s the deal with your car? ‘Cause I know a really good guy down off Central Avenue who—”

Castiel shook his head. “It was totaled. My poor car is now in car Heaven.”

“So you need a new car?” Dean stared disbelievingly at him. “Cas, why didn’t you tell me before?!” He grabbed Castiel’s wrist and tugged him in the direction of the road. “C’mon, Cas!”

“Dean, what are you doing?!”

“I’m gonna find you a new car!”

 

* * *

 

“Okay, so,” Dean turned Castiel’s laptop so they could both see the screen, “I think these are some of your best options.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow at the website. “Craigslist? Really?”

“Shuddup. It’s a good way of findin’ old cars for cheap. Besides, they didn’t have these models on eBay.”

They were sitting on Castiel’s couch in the same spots they had claimed the night before, with the TV on and tuned into reruns of Star Trek: The Next Generation. Castiel had sat patiently and gone through some of his notes on the Quran while Dean hmmed, swore, and grinned his way through two hours of looking for the car that he thought Castiel would like best. They’d already established that Castiel would like to switch things up and buy himself an old vintage car instead of another used and lackluster later model, despite the difference in how much money he’d have to spend on gas. _Besides_ , Castiel had reasoned, _that trust fund has to go somewhere._

“This one’s a nineteen-sixty Nash Rambler, white paint with original tan leather interior. Owner says the engine might need a little touchin’ up, but I can take care of that easy. This other one here’s a nineteen-sixty-four Ford Falcon, also white with a brown leather interior. Rims look good but there’s some minor crackin’ around the steerin’ wheel. And this last one is a nineteen-sixty-one Chevy Nova, light blue paint with a white leather interior; it’s got a few cracks around the dash but the engine’s in great condition. So, just goin’ off of first impressions, which car d’you like best?”

Castiel answered without hesitation: “Definitely the Nash Rambler.”

The corner of Dean’s mouth perked up in a smile. “Really? Okay. It’s a great little economy car. I think you’ll really like it.”

“And you’re sure you’re willing to fix the engine?”

“Of course. I love workin’ on cars. It’ll give me somethin’ to do on my days off besides loafin’ on your couch and takin’ advantage of your flatscreen.” Dean turned to flash Castiel his grin and Castiel’s stomach did an unhelpful swoop.

“I, uh.” He licked his lips and recovered. “You’re not taking advantage. I hardly ever use this TV, especially during the school year. Although being injured has definitely switched things up.”

“And we have to finish _Star Wars_ at some point,” Dean reminded him, pulling up the information on the Rambler’s current owner. “Don’t forget that.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Good.” Dean turned to look at Castiel again, his smirk friendly instead of sharp.

Castiel met Dean’s open green gaze with his own attempt at a smile and realized that he was absolutely fucked.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i did careful research and a 1960 nash rambler is 100% cas' car. it's so perfect for him. 
> 
> note: the park near cas' house actually does exist (and there is a swimming pool, oddly enough), but as far as i could tell from google maps, there isn't actually a duck pond :( regardless, i hope i didn't offend any cleveland natives who really like greenwood park...
> 
> thanks for reading!! <3


	7. Chapter 7

Castiel groaned and massaged his temples, his elbows propped up on his various notebooks and Bibles. “I’m so sick of Jesus.”

Dean shook his head as he smiled down at the frying pan. “I need to start writin’ down these quotes of yours. Outta context, they sound pretty damn weird.” He flipped the grilled cheese onto its uncooked side, the butter hitting the hot pan with a sizzle. “You can’t work on that all the time, you know. You gotta take breaks. You’re still in recovery, for cryin’ out loud.”

“Five weeks to go and counting,” Castiel intoned, scrubbing his fingers through his hair (it really was getting to be a bit long). “And if I don’t plan this course, no one else will.”

“I could. I’d be awesome at it.”

Castiel snorted and straightened, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah, because you know so much about world religions.”

“Hare Krishna.” Dean flashed Castiel a grin. “See? I’ve picked up a lot from you.” He flipped the grilled cheese again — perfectly golden on each side — before flipping it onto a waiting plate. He slid a small bunch of green grapes next to the grilled cheese and held the plate out to Castiel. “Now eat.”

Castiel sighed but accepted the sandwich without argument. Dean seemed to be oddly adamant about ensuring that Castiel ate enough and would occasionally text him reminders like, “the new tomatoes in the fridge r calling ur name” and “if u dont eat lunch darth vader will steal all ur bibles” and “u better eat at least half a bag of chips or bastet & i r gonna elope”. Castiel would always smirk and try to shrug the reminders off, but he was secretly touched that Dean cared enough about him to remind him. Castiel was indeed very bad about remembering mealtimes, and would sometimes eat breakfast instead of lunch and not eat again until eleven at night. And somehow, without Castiel ever mentioning it, Dean had figured it out.

Castiel bit through the crunchy, buttery toast and into the warm, gooey cheese. He moaned rather embarrassingly and squeezed his eyes shut as he chewed. “Dean, this is—”

“I know. I used to make ‘em for Sammy.” Dean’s gaze lingered on Castiel before he returned his attention to the pan. “But I don’t think he ever had quite the same reaction.”

Castiel responded with a garbled noise before plowing through most of the sandwich, only pausing to break off a few grapes and toss them into his mouth. By the time he was finishing off the last corner, Dean sat down with his own grilled cheese and a grin that was wider than usual.

“What?” Castiel asked him, wiping his hands on a napkin.

“Nothin’,” Dean replied. “It’s just nice to see someone enjoy my cookin’. Really enjoy it, I mean.”

Castiel huffed and blushed a little; he resisted the urge to reach up and tug at the collar of his t-shirt.

“So, are you excited?” Dean asked him, dunking one edge of his grilled cheese into a puddle of ketchup. “She should be gettin’ here soon.”

“Oddly enough, I am. I’ve never been this excited about a car before.”

“That’s the magic of vintage.” Dean snorted to himself. “Nash Rambler, man. Who’d’ve thunk it?”

A sudden, sharp chime rang through the house: Castiel’s doorbell. Castiel’s gaze locked with Dean’s and Dean grumbled a little as he put his uneaten grilled cheese back onto his plate. “I’ll get the door,” Dean said, not unkindly, and Castiel grinned as he reached for his crutches.

 

* * *

 

Jodie Mills was a middle-aged woman who had short hair, was quietly tough, favoured plaid, and had a bossy mothering side. Castiel liked her instantly.

She’d rolled up to his house in a modern truck towing a small trailer behind her. Castiel had found himself reminded of the trailers that carried horses down highways before Jodie popped open the back and his new 1960 Nash Rambler gleamed up at him, cheerful despite the shadow. “You made a good choice,” she said as she and Dean towed the Rambler onto the road. “She’s been sitting in my garage for Lord knows how long.”

“She?” Castiel found himself asking, one hand resting on the Rambler’s shiny white hood.

“All machines are ladies, Cas.” Dean stepped in, a glint in his eye. “You’re gonna have to pick a name for her soon.”

Castiel hummed and nodded, already having one in mind, but knowing his choice would garner some loud protesting from Dean.

Then Dean started drilling Jodie for the facts, and they spent the next awfully-long-amount-of-time verbally picking the Rambler apart. Castiel stayed on the sidelines and tried to follow what they were saying but when the word “carburetor” surfaced he called it quits and zoned out completely.

When Dean was satisfied and Jodie was looking triumphant, she handed Castiel a thin sheaf of papers to cement their transaction and a pen. “So did you fall out of a tree or trip over a cat?”

Castiel smiled and began filling in the forms. “No, just a car accident. That’s why I bought the Rambler.”

Jodie nodded once, a slight tweak of her chin. “I’m sorry,” she said, nice and simple, before giving Castiel’s forearm a light brush.

“Thanks,” he said, and he meant it. “And thank you for driving all the way out here. We could’ve just had it shipped by a company, you know.”

“Nah,” she replied, a smile dancing in the corners of her mouth. “I love roadtrips. ‘Specially ones that go across the country.”

“Me too,” Dean said, and for some reason, Castiel wasn’t entirely surprised. “I get antsy if I don’t take a big drive every coupl’a months or so.”

“Same here.” Jodie shrugged. “Perk of being a car-collector-slash-mechanic is that I get lots of excuses to drive.”

“I hate flyin’.” Dean popped open the hood and leaned over the engine, running his fingers over the clean machinery. “Only been on a plane maybe once or twice in my life.”

“ _Me too_ ,” Jodie said, nearly beaming at him as she waited for Castiel to finish the paperwork. “Planes never look safe to me, and I—”

Castiel handed the papers back to her. “Now that we’ve established that you and Dean are, in fact, the same soul in different bodies, I think I’ll go get us some iced tea.”

Jodie chuckled and squeezed his arm. “Man after my own heart.”

 

* * *

 

Castiel swallowed and tried to find another thing to look at. Dean the Mechanic was, somehow, even hotter than Dean the Nurse.

Dean let out a sigh and dragged his forearm across his forehead, wiping away the sweat as his wife beater rode up and exposed an indecent amount of abdomen. “We’re in the home stretch, Cas.” His grin was genuine but tired. “Give me another half-hour or so and she’ll be ready.”

“Sounds good,” Castiel managed, unsteady on his crutches. “If, uh, it’s okay, I’m gonna…” He gestured behind himself and in the direction of the house.

“Yeah, yeah, go for it.” Dean waved him away, already busy doing something with a wrench or whatever it was called and humming along to the Led Zeppelin playing in the background.

Castiel managed to collect himself enough to get through the back door and into his kitchen without tripping over something. He sagged against the counter and thunked his head on the cabinet. “Idiot. Idiot. Idiot.” A plaintive meow sounded at his feet. “I know, I know.” The other day, it had taken Castiel all of five minutes to come to terms with the fact that his interest in Dean was far past the realm of a hookup and verging into the territory of ‘if you weren’t in my life I don’t know what I’d do.’ And that had only made things more difficult, especially because Dean was very obviously straight and very obviously not into Castiel. _I mean_ , Castiel reminded himself, pressing his forehead against the wood of the cabinet, _he wears a huge leather jacket and drives a muscle car and listens to hard-ass rock n’ roll and was all flirty with Jo and—_ “UGH,” he said aloud, thumping his head against the cabinet again.

The moment Jodie had left, with a bagged lunch in hand (“Please take it,” Castiel had insisted. “It’s the least I can do.”) and a friendly wave out of her window, Dean had said, “Gimme two seconds to get my workin’ clothes and we’re in business,” and raced across the street to his own house. When he’d reappeared wearing a pair of beaten-up navy blue overalls with “Dean” embroidered in white in the upper left corner and a box of tools in hand, Castiel’s heart rate had approached the realm of dangerous and he’d barely managed to choke out “Yes,” when Dean asked him if he could drive the Rambler into Castiel’s garage and get to work. An hour or so later, here they were — Dean in Castiel’s garage, the top half of his overalls unbuttoned and the sleeves tied around his hips, being indecently pretty and sweating too perfectly in the late July heat, and Castiel in the kitchen, bemoaning his existence and generally acting like a thirteen year-old girl.

The past week-or-so had been in equal parts wonderful and tortuous. Castiel was becoming so used to Dean’s presence that Monday had been somewhat of a shock, when Dean was back at work and only stopping by on his way home to make sure Castiel was still eating on a somewhat-normal basis and taking his meds. Once again, Castiel was forced tofully come to terms with his solitude within the big city, and every time he had an inkling to maybe pound the streets and seek out the most hipster coffee shop he could find, he would remember the bruises under his arms and how he tried to use his crutches as little as possible. But, today was Sunday, and it was Dean’s day off, and, for some unfathomable reason, he’d chosen to spend it by making lunch for Castiel and wait with him until Castiel’s new Rambler came up the street. Castiel thunked his head against the cabinet twice more for good measure.

Bastet meowed again, nudging at Castiel’s leg with an insistent paw. “All right,” he replied, reaching into the cabinet for the container of her dry food. “A little more lunch it is.” He splashed a handful of the dry food into her bowl, smiling as she pounced on it like she hadn’t eaten in days. As he was closing the cabinet, an uneaten grilled cheese sitting on the table caught his eye, and he set off in the direction of his laptop.

A half hour later, Dean wandered into Castiel’s kitchen, wiping his hands with a spare rag. “Cas?” he called out. “You in here?”

“Yes,” came Castiel’s reply, sounding closer than Dean had expected him to. A moment later, there was the familiar sound of crutches on wooden floorboards and Castiel appeared, looking very pleased with himself. “How is she?”

Dean found himself grinning again. “She’s great. More’n ready to be driven.” He noticed the folded piece of paper clenched in Castiel’s hand. “Whatcha got there, Cas?”

“I figured out what we’re doing for dinner,” Castiel replied, handing over the paper with his own smile. “My treat, of course, but you’ll have to be the one to drive.”

“Al’s Drive-In,” Dean read off the printed map, which showed a location about twenty minutes away, over on the other side of town. “What is it?”

“It’s the only vintage drive-in left in Cleveland. They have an old-fashioned diner and everything — burgers, shakes, fries. And tonight they’re playing an old Hitchcock…” Castiel paused, looking at Dean with real sincerity. “I want to thank you for all your help with the car and, well, everything else. It means a lot to me.”

Temporarily rendered speechless, Dean could only stare at Castiel, his mouth hanging open a little. “I, okay.” He cleared his throat in one quick cough. “Yeah, um, that sounds great.”

 

* * *

 

Dean shook his head and shoved his hand into the bucket of popcorn. “Only Jimmy Stewart could ignore Grace Kelly.”

“Tragic, isn’t it?” Castiel sucked at the last third of his milkshake and wondered why on earth he was doing this, since he wasn’t hungry. “You know, I bet this—” he gestured at the giant movie screen “—would’ve been my fate if I’d broken my ankle back in the fifties.”

Dean snorted through a chuckle. “What, to sit in a wheelchair and stare at your neighbors ‘til you figure out one of them’s a murderer?”

“Yes. Although I’d only be able to see your house, so you’d have to be the murderer.”

Dean shook his head. “Knew you’d make me the bad guy.”

“Of course. That’s the way of the Universe, as dictated by the holy texts transcribed by the angel of Thursday.” Castiel side-eyed Dean. “It’s fate.”

Dean chuckled lightly. “Angel of Thursday, huh? Is that who you’re named after?”

“Yeah. Like I told you, I had some pretty intense parents.” More to change the subject than anything else, he added, “So you ever been to a drive-in before?” He took the lid off his shake so he could spoon the remains into his mouth. The ice cream was cold and sweet, biting into his teeth as he reached for another mouthful.

Dean replied a beat too late, coughing once before saying, “Yeah, there was usually one around. I think there still might be one around Bobby’s place. Actually, uh.” He chuckled, somewhat nervously. “I used to take girls to the drive-ins so we could neck in the backseat.”

Castiel swallowed too quickly and experienced the odd sensation of a crippling brain freeze mixed with a doubling heart rate. Dean immediately noticed his blush and laughed.

“What, you never done that before?”

“I, uh. The opportunity never arose.”

“To go to a drive-in or to neck in the backseat? Ohhhh.” Dean grinned as Castiel’s blush deepened. “Can’t believe you’ve never necked in the backseat. That’s like a teenage rite of passage.”

“You’re talking to a guy whose teenage years consisted of exploring Confucianism and collecting comics.” Castiel shook his head. “Besides, it was pretty conservative where I lived. I couldn’t _neck_ with a guy in a semi-public place, even if I wanted to.”

Dean went still, sobered. “Right,” he said with a nod, and for a minute or so, they both watched the movie in silence. Then he smirked and said, “I still can’t believe you let me eat in your brand-new car.”

“Oh please,” Castiel replied. “You like cars so much I knew you wouldn’t make a mess. And she needs some character.”

“Amen to that.” Dean bumped his Coke bottle against Castiel’s empty milkshake cup. He raised a warning finger. “But if you fuck up this leather, I will end you.”

Castiel’s responding laugh was so loud that the people in the next car shushed him.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> p.s. al's drive-in isn't actually a thing in cleveland (sadly) and nor is there a garage next to 2154 fulton road. 
> 
> thanks for reading :3 new chapter asap!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhhhh sorry for the late update :( school's been INSANE! but i hope you like it :3
> 
> and, as always, hubrisandwax deserves all the llamas for being my ever-patient beta!

“Did you just insult the sun in ancient Hebrew?”

Castiel glared at the sky through squinted eyes. “Maybe.”

“Well, if you’re not careful, it’s gonna get offended and turn itself off. And then we’ll really be screwed.”

Castiel aimed a crutch in Dean’s direction; Dean danced away with a good-natured laugh. “Hey, watch it! I’m your ride home.”

“I still don’t understand why you won’t let me drive.”

“Be _cause_ ,” Dean started to say, with the air of someone who’s explained the same thing about a hundred times, “gettin’ your cast removed doesn’t equal full mobility. I ain’t lettin’ you put any real stress on that ankle joint until tomorrow at the earliest.”

Castiel huffed loudly in complaint but didn’t reply. He’d learned by now that it was pointless to argue with Dean when it came to medical matters.

The past six weeks of his life had been some of the strangest and best. Getting used to having a friend — to having _Dean_ — around was a very real change for Castiel, who was somewhat of a habitual loner. But it seemed that once Dean had learned about Castiel’s aforementioned perpetual lonership, Dean had gone out of his way to ensure that Castiel had a support network. And that support network was Dean. And maybe Jo. And kind of Garth. The nurses just really seemed to like Castiel. He wasn’t sure why. He hadn’t actually met most of them, but had had residual texting conversations with them via Dean and apparently, they were always asking about Castiel and his Bibles. He was baffled, but Dean found it hilarious.

He’d learned about the curly fries from Michael’s Diner and that chocolate milkshakes made Dean grin for hours. He’d learned about Led Zeppelin and AC/DC and why Indiana Jones was the best thing to ever happen (other than Luke Skywalker). He’d learned about the small scar under Dean’s chin (“bike accident”) and why a case of root beer should always be present in his fridge, even if Castiel preferred Dr. Pepper or Pepsi, because Castiel’s taste in soda was just “plain goddamn awful, Cas, I mean really, it’s embarrassin’.” He’d learned that sunrises are better than sunsets (“Cas, you should see the way the light hits the east wing in the mornin’, ‘specially up in Pediatrics. That’s where we take the kids who can’t sleep. Makes ‘em smile.”) and that Dean was a fastidiously neat person (he’d taken one look at Castiel’s desk and visibly shuddered) and that changing bandages was one of Dean’s favorite things about being a nurse (“I like doin’ this,” he’d said, smiling down at the nearly-healed cut on the side of Castiel’s knee. “Feels like you just fell off the monkey bars and I’m the one makin’ it better.”). He’d learned that Dean called Sam and Bobby every week, talking to them from anywhere between five minutes and an hour. He’d learned that, despite all appearances, Dean didn’t like being alone, especially when he was at home.

He wasn’t sure if Dean had learned anything about him. _Besides_ , Castiel was constantly and bitterly reminding himself, _why would he want to?_

And here they now were, six weeks after Castiel’s accident, and just a few days before the start of his semester, walking into the hospital to get his cast taken off. He wasn’t sure how he felt about the whole thing: the end of this, of being injured — in addition to  the beginning of the school year — had to mean the end of something with Dean, but he wasn’t sure what it would be, or if it would even happen, and he sure as hell wasn’t ready to find out.

Dean punched the “up” button for the elevator and looked across at Castiel. “You excited? You’re ‘bout to step into a whole lotta freedom.”

Castiel hummed in agreement. “Six weeks sounds shorter than it feels.”

Dean smirked as the elevator arrived and the doors slid open. “I hear ya. Time’s a bitch.”

Castiel followed Dean into the elevator and stared at his shoes for the duration of the ride up to the twelfth floor: the elevator was lined with mirrors, and he wasn’t sure if he could handle catching the way he looked at Dean.

* * *

 

Castiel lowered his bare right foot to the floor and slowly put some weight onto it. The floor was cold and smooth, and a slight tingling sensation traveled up his leg.

“Huh.” He peered at his now-healed ankle — the muscles around and above it were noticeably thinner and weaker than the ones on his other leg. His right leg looked… wimpy.

“How’s it feel?” the nurse asked him as she tossed the remains of his cast into the garbage; Castiel felt a small pang as he watched Dean’s doodles disappear into the metal bin.

“There isn’t any pain, if that’s what you mean.” Castiel gently shifted around, remembering Dean’s advice about taking it easy.

The nurse grinned. “That’s good. I didn’t think there would be — you healed really well.” She swept the remaining bits and pieces of his cast into her hand and likewise tossed them into the garbage. “You got a ride home?”

Castiel nodded as he slipped on the pair of flip flops Dean had told him to bring. “He works here, actually. You might know him.”

“Oh yeah? What’s his name?”

“Dean Winchester.”

The nurse’s face broke into a grin. “I do know him. He’s lovely.” She held open the door for Castiel. “How’d you meet him?”

“The night shift,” Castiel replied as he slowly walked past her and into the short hallway. Using his foot again felt very strange. “He was on duty the night of my accident. And then we figured out that we’re actually neighbors.”

The nurse chuckled as she kept pace with him. “Sounds like a rom-com.” When Castiel didn’t reply, she glanced at him and noticed his blush. “Oh no. Did I just put my foot in my mouth?”

“No, no,” Castiel hurriedly assured her. “No, it’s just, I, um—” He cleared his throat. “It’s, uh, it’s… difficult,” he finally managed.

The nurse gave him a sympathetic look. “Don’t worry. I get it.” She stopped at the doorway to the waiting room and gave his arm a squeeze. “Tell him Lisa said hey, and that he should definitely take you to Sweet Moses to celebrate.”

* * *

 

Dean stared at Castiel and licked his lips. “Uh, Cas? You got a little…” He made a wiping motion near his mouth.

Castiel frowned and mimicked Dean, swiping a thumb along the edge of his bottom lip. A ridiculous amount of whipped cream came away, and he smiled as he licked it off. “Thanks.”

Dean coughed roughly and turned back to his strawberry malt. “Anytime.” (“Today’s a strawberry kinda day,” he’d said when Castiel had raised an eyebrow at Dean’s choice of drink, which was quite different from Dean’s usual chocolate.)

“So. Dean.” Castiel scooped up another spoonful of his unbelievably-good Turtle Sundae. “Why have you never taken me here before?”

Dean grinned. “‘Cause it’s a freakin’ rabbit hole. You eat one bite of ice cream and suddenly you gotta eat the whole store. But today was a good day to come. It’s best to save these things for celebrations.”

Castiel nodded energetically, mouth full of ice cream.

“Y’know, I can’t believe you’re eatin’ that whole thing. Aren’t you full to burstin’?”

“Actually, no.” Castiel avoided Dean’s gaze. “I—”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t eat lunch, did you?”

Castiel responded by shoving more ice cream into his mouth.

Dean sighed into his malt. “Goddamn it, Cas.” He sat in silence for a moment, toying with his straw wrapper. “Y’know what?” he said suddenly. “We should celebrate.”

“I thought we already were.” Castiel gestured to the mountainous sundae in front of him.

“No, I mean like really celebrate. You gettin’ the all-clear, school startin’ up next week… Summer needs to end with a bang.” Castiel hastily shoved an extra-large spoonful of ice cream into his mouth as Dean pulled out his phone. “I’ve got tomorrow off. I’ll rustle up some of the crew and we’ll play Pictionary and strip poker at yours.” He dialed a number and smirked at Castiel. “You’re buyin’ the alcohol.”

* * *

 

Meg raised a dark, stupidly perfect eyebrow and took a sip of her beer. “That’s definitely not a firetruck, Clarence.”

Castiel made a garbled noise and gestured furiously at the piece of paper. “It’s not my fault your artistic vision is crucially impaired!”

“Watch yourself, man,” Garth said as he reached for his own drawing pad. “She’s got a mean left cross.”

Castiel huffed and sat back, Bastet chirping at him from where she lay next to his leg. “Don’t give me that,” he replied, running a hand down her back. “I tried, didn’t I?”

Meg snorted. “Did you just talk to your cat?”

Dean laughed as he grabbed the mini hourglass. “Yeah, he does that.”

“Why won’t Bastet come and sit on _my_ lap?” Kevin wanted to know as he gathered up the pile of used cards. “I’m the one doing all the work. I deserve kitty cuddles.”

“Trust me,” Dean said, “that cat’ll come to you at some point. She’s obsessed with botherin’ people.” He turned the hourglass upside-down, and play commenced.

Thoroughly embracing his new freedom, Castiel had spent the majority of the morning and afternoon cooking and baking at his leisure, both for his own purposes (university work restricted his time for dinner entirely) and for his “party.” When Dean had arrived at 5:30 in preparation for the evening, he’d shoved one of Castiel’s homemade pigs-in-a-blanket into his mouth and gone cross-eyed. “Christ,” he’d croaked after swallowing. “I might just have to keep you on speed-dial.”

Meg, as Dean had introduced her, was the Devil’s sun and stars. She was short, beautiful, and deeply intimidating. Even her teeth looked sharp. Garth, however, was just a skinny teddy bear who hugged Castiel on sight and said, “Your home is real nice. Thank you for sharing it.” Kevin worked in IT and was apparently so smart that he could theoretically hack into the CIA’s mainframe. “It gets tempting,” he’d said after picking through the vegetarian options: “The government sucks.”

“This sucks,” Meg proclaimed some twenty minutes later, tossing her pencil onto the coffee table. She and Castiel were losing 9-21 to Dean and Garth. “I think it’s time for strip poker.”

Castiel flushed from his ears to his toes and internally cursed. “Uh—”

“That could be fun,” Garth said, his smile all innocence.

“I’m down,” Dean said with a grin, reaching for another pig-in-a-blanket. “S’better than drawin’ pictures.”

“I second that.” Kevin, ever-so-proud of Bastet choosing his lap to invade, ran a hand down her back. “Cas, you got a deck of regular playing cards?”

“Yeah, uh, upstairs.” Castiel swallowed and quickly stood up. “Be right back.”

When Castiel was safely in his bedroom, he leaned his head against the wall and mentally begged himself to calm the fuck down and get a grip. _This is ridiculous_ , he thought. _Pull yourself together. It’s not like the guy you secretly have a major crush on is about to strip right in front of you. Nope. Not at all._

 “Just forget it,” he muttered, burying the heel of his palm into his eyes before backing away from the wall and digging out a lone deck of cards from somewhere on his desk. “It doesn’t matter to him, so why should it matter to you?”

Twenty minutes later, Castiel was reconsidering his sanity as he watched Dean grimace and pull off his henley, revealing a finely-toned chest and muscular abdomen. “You all suck,” Dean informed them, and Castiel desperately tried to unswallow his tongue.

“At least you have your pants,” Kevin said with remarkable eloquence for someone at his level of intoxication. He was sitting in just his boxers, arms pressed up against his sides.

“Don’t worry, Kev,” Meg crooned, her hand curled around her fourth bottle of beer. She, unlike the rest of them, was fully clothed. Castiel was one hand away from proclaiming her a cheat. “Garth and Cas are having a tough time of it, too.”

Garth, who had lost both his socks and his button-down (but not his t-shirt), was still grinning with utter benevolence. Castiel, on the other hand, was sending a prayer to every god he could think of, begging them to let him keep his shirt and pants.

The next hand proved his prayers futile. “C’mon, Cas,” Kevin said, sending him a drunken grin. “Shirt. Off.”

Castiel sent one last glance in Dean’s direction (Dean appeared to be suddenly very interested in the cards in his hand) before gritting his teeth and thinking, _Why the fuck not?_ He reached for the collar of his shirt and pulled it off in one swift movement.

Meg, Kevin, and Garth greeted this with loud whoops and catcalls and, in spite of himself, Castiel couldn’t stop grinning. “Shut up,” he said to them, and they just laughed in response.

“You look good, Cas!” Meg said after polishing off her beer. “You work out?”

He snorted. “Not for the past six weeks. But I usually run. Or swim.”

“Hot dayyuummm,” Kevin drawled. “You fine.”

“On that note,” Castiel said loudly, “I think it’s time to get you guys some water.” He stood up from the table. “Play the hand without me.” He turned and went into the kitchen, trying not to feel a sting of hurt at the way Dean was avoiding his gaze.

* * *

 

“Okay, I think that’s enough,” Castiel said gently, disentangling himself from Meg’s octopus-like arms. “It’s time for you to go home now. Garth is waiting and everything.”

Meg seemed to engage in some serious deliberation. “Wellllll okay.” She stepped away and sighed. “But you’re so pretty, angel.”

“Meg.” Garth tugged her in the direction of the door. Kevin groaned from the porch. “Time for bed.”

Meg cleared her throat and slowly walked out the door. “If only someone would make good on that promise.”

“Goodnight,” Dean said loudly from somewhere behind Castiel.

Meg and Kevin slurred something in response. Garth grinned bashfully and reached for Castiel’s coat stand. “Almost forgot my jacket.” He slung his sheepskin coat over his arm and smiled at Castiel. “Thanks for tonight. It really was nice to meet you.” And suddenly he had Castiel in a bear grip, hugging him for all his worth. A terrifying moment later (Castiel was just grateful they’d all put on their clothes again), Garth pulled away and patted Castiel on the shoulder. “We should do this again sometime.”

“Yes,” Castiel found himself agreeing. He’d genuinely enjoyed himself. “Sometime soon.”

With a final wave, Garth tucked himself into his car and designated-drove Meg and Kevin away. Castiel watched them go with an easy complacent smile, wondering if he would see them again. A foreign part of him wanted it to happen sooner rather than later.

He closed the front door and wandered back into his living room where Dean was sitting on the couch, nursing his own glass of water. _Better than soda_ , Castiel reasoned.

“That was really fun,” Castiel said, unable to stop smiling. He sat down at the other end of the couch. “Like really fun.”

“Right?” Dean grinned around his glass before draining it completely. “Good times.” He put his empty glass down on the coffee table. “All right. I’d better get goin’.” Dean stood up and headed for the front door. Castiel inhaled slowly and accepted the silent dismissal. He stood up as well, and frowned when he saw Dean staring in fascination at his coat, which was suddenly two sizes too big.

“Garth took my coat.” Dean sounded like he couldn’t quite believe it. “He took my coat.”

“What’re the odds that you both have a brown sheepskin coat?” Castiel wanted to know.

“Man, I don’t know.” Dean groaned. “Dammit. My house keys were in the pocket.”

“Do you have a spare?”

Dean snorted. The size of the coat made him look a decade younger. “I did, up until about a month ago, when I lost my original and just started usin’ my spare. S’what I get for bein’ lazy.”

Castiel shifted on the spot. “Well, call him.”

“Garth doesn’t do cell phones.” Dean ran a hand along his jaw, and he suddenly looked twice as tired.

“What about the others? They probably have their— Oh.” Castiel shut up when Dean stuck his hands into the pockets of Garth’s coat and pulled out two familiar cell phones.

“Yeah.” Dean shook his head and replaced the phones. “They didn’t want to drunk dial.” He nudged the doorway despondently with the edge of his foot.

Castiel turned on the spot and went upstairs, opening his linens cupboard and pulling out fresh sheets and his extra duvet. Then, he grabbed a pillow from his bed, a spare shirt and sweatpants from his closet, and went back downstairs. Dean had taken off the coat and was rubbing the back of his neck. Castiel was so familiar with Dean’s nervous tells that he almost smiled.

“Here.” Castiel dropped the bedding down onto the couch and started taking off the cushions lining the back.

“Whoa,” Dean protested. “What’re you doin’?”

Castiel snorted. “Like I’m going to make you stay in a motel for one night. No. You’ll stay here. And I have it on good authority that this couch is very comfortable.”

“Oh, yeah? Whose?”

Castiel grinned. “Mine.” He ballooned the sheet over the seat cushions. “Besides, it’ll be nice to have someone help me with the cleanup tomorrow. These are for you.” He tossed the clothing to Dean. “There’s a spare toothbrush in the side drawer in the downstairs bathroom. Toothpaste, too.” He fluffed the pillow against one of the armrests and tossed the duvet out across the sheet. _There_ , he thought, _a perfect bed_.

Dean was staring at him, his fingers toying with the ties on the sweatpants. “Cas, I—” Dean swallowed. “I don’t know what to say.”

Castiel waved him off. “Dean, you basically nursed me back to health. It’s the least I can do.” He cleared his throat. “Now, for some reason—” probably the alcohol “—I’m super sleepy, so I’m going to be going upstairs now. Do you need anything?”

“No, Cas,” Dean said through a laugh, “I think I’m good.”

“Fantastic.” Castiel gave him a thumbs-up. “Come and get me if you need me.”

“Will do.” Dean smiled, and it was something more tender, more sweet, than before. “And thanks.”

Castiel tried to smile back. “Goodnight, Dean.”

“‘Night, Cas.”

* * *

 

Castiel gasped awake, someone’s hands on his arms and shoulders and face and —

“What? What? I’m—”

“—screamin’,” Dean finished for him, his face nearly invisible in the dark. “You were screamin’.”

Castiel spluttered, trapped in semi-consciousness. “I was—what?”

“Your dream, Cas.” Dean didn’t move his hands from Castiel’s arms and, if anything, gripped them more tightly. “You were havin’ your dream.”

“Oh.” Castiel’s breathing evened out. “I woke you. I’m so sorry.”

Dean stiffened. “Don’t you dare say that to me. Do not _ever_ say you’re sorry for somethin’ like this.”

“I—okay.” Castiel curled in on himself. “Okay.”

“Jesus, man.” Dean released him with a sigh. “What the hell are these dreams  doin’ to you?”

“It’s just…” Castiel rolled over and turned on his bedside lamp. The room flooded with light; now Castiel could see how deeply shaken Dean was. “It’s a bad experience from my childhood.”

Dean blinked, but Castiel couldn’t tell if it was in surprise or not. “Have you talked to someone about this? A doctor? A shrink? Anybody?”

“Yeah,” Castiel said, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “During college. They said it would take some serious therapy, introspection, and a lot less loneliness to get me out of the rut.” He smiled a self-deprecating smile. “I didn’t have the time for it. And I don’t need much sleep, anyway.”

Dean shook his head. “Like Hell.” He stood up and wandered over to Castiel’s bedside table. He switched off the lamp and turned towards the bed. “Well, scoot over.”

Castiel stared at him. “What?”

“Sammy had bad nightmares when he was a kid. This was the only thing that helped.” Dean waited for Castiel to move, and when he didn’t, Dean sighed. “The least I can do is be here to wake you up before it gets really bad. That’s better than nothin’, isn’t it?”

“I… guess.” Castiel tried to ignore the volcanic butterflies in his stomach and scooted over to the other side of his bed, sliding under the duvet and waiting for Dean to do the same; he turned onto his side so he wouldn’t have to face Dean.

Castiel’s bed was big, but it wasn’t colossal. He was very much aware of Dean’s weight and the warmth he exuded, and it was making sleep even harder to chase. More to break the silence than anything, he murmured, “You weren’t drinking tonight.”

Dean hummed and shifted slightly. “Yeah.” He paused for a long moment before continuing. “I never did tell you why I became a nurse, huh?”

“No,” Castiel mumbled, squeezing the corner of his pillow to prevent himself from rolling over and pulling Dean closer to him.

“Yeah, uh.” Dean coughed a little. “Let’s just say I had a rough adolescence. Things got worse after Dad died. I mean, Bobby was great. He was more than great. He was everything we needed. But I just didn’t handle it well.” He inhaled quickly. “I went down my dad’s path. Started drinkin’ like crazy. And then Sammy left… I really derailed after I turned twenty-two. Got wasted one night, drove myself home. But I hit somebody on the way. Nearly killed her.” He coughed again. “Shook me up bad enough that I turned myself around. Went stone-cold sober. Put myself through nursin’ school. I wanted to stop hurtin’ people and do just the opposite. I wasn’t good enough to be a doctor so I went for the next-best thing.” He was quiet for a moment. “It’s been about eight years now. I haven’t had a drink in eight years.” His hand shifted under the covers and he prodded Castiel in the back. “Your turn.”

Castiel suppressed a shudder and bit his pillow before replying. The distance between them was killing him. “Not much to say, really. Remember how I said my parents were kind of extreme?” Dean mumbled in affirmation and Castiel closed his eyes as he continued. “Well, when I was six, I did something. And apparently it was something really bad, or it was bad according to my dad, because he just lost it. I’d never seen him like that before, and I never saw him act that way again. But, he just grabbed me, and told me that I’d be punished for my sins.” He swallowed; his throat felt paper-dry. “We already lived in a pretty rural area, but he just drove out in the middle of absolute nowhere. Some forest or other. And he took me out and walked me… into the trees. We walked for about half an hour, or, at least, I thought we did. It took me a long time to realize that I was alone, and had been for some time.” He forced himself to take a breath. “He left me alone in the woods so I could think about what I’d done, and I had to find my own way out. You can imagine how that went. I was… by myself for an entire day. Completely lost. Terrified. And cold. Really cold. That’s the one thing I remember most. I didn’t even have a jacket. When my mom came home that night and found the both of us gone, she called the police and started a search. Turned out that my dad had just walked back to his car and waited for me to reappear, never bothering to go looking for me, even though it got dark. He said that I needed time alone to repent my sins and beg God for forgiveness. They found me an hour or so later, around nine o’clock. I was… curled up under a tree, apparently. And shivering. And I had filled my pockets with feathers and pebbles, and I’d given them all names.” Castiel almost smiled. “My mother and the police tore into my father, but he just tuned them out. It was very much a turning point in my parents’ relationship. I don’t think my mother ever trusted my father again. Not that she should’ve.” Castiel paused, one of his hands twisted into the duvet. “And that’s…”

“... that’s your nightmare,” Dean finished for him. “Cas, I’m…” He seemed unable to find the words. Then, a warm arm wrapped around Castiel from behind and help him tightly. Dean pressed his face into Castiel’s back.

“Dean?” Castiel murmured, caught off-guard by the sudden emotion choking both of them. “What—”

“Don’t tell anyone,” Dean mumbled into Castiel’s shirt. “Just. I _don’t_ cuddle, okay?”

“Okay,” Castiel found himself saying, gripping Dean’s arm. “And… thank you for telling me that.”

“Cas.” Dean’s voice was almost a whisper. “Thank you for listenin’. And for… tellin’ me. You didn’t have to.”

“No,” Castiel, mumbled, his eyes beginning to close. “It’s good that I did.” The last thing he was aware of was being warm, and being held, and he thought that maybe this was better than being alone, this was better than an empty bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes sweet moses is a real thing in cleveland and if any of you are in the general vicinity i 100% recommend it looks so amazing and i feel daily pain about the fact that i can't go there and get a turtle sundae
> 
> thanks for reading!! <3 feedback is always appreciated :3


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the late update x_x but tech weeks are so killer. i'll try to write the next chapter more quickly!! again, thank you so much for reading xxx

Castiel woke to the smell of bacon and a cold bed. He blinked, wondering who the hell was cooking him breakfast before remembering the previous night. The memory hit him like a slap and he sat up, mind flooding with recollections of mumbled confessions and a rather obscene amount of cuddling.

He rubbed his hand across his face and swore in every language he knew.

After changing out of his pajamas and into the baggiest sweatpants and t-shirt he owned, he plodded quietly downstairs, not really knowing how to act around Dean. He wasn’t sure if they were acknowledging the whole nightmare-comfort-talk-cuddling thing, and his heart pounded as he entered the dining room, less than ten feet away from the kitchen.

“—yeah, and then I’m gonna head out. I hit up Garth this morning and he’s gonna be here with my jacket soon so I can finally go home.” There was a pause. “No, I just wanna get outta here as soon as I can. Of course Cas is a great guy, I just— I need some space, y’know? Yeah, yeah, I gotcha. You’ve already told me what, ten times? Yeah, just until he wakes up, then I’m outta here—”

Nausea rolled through Castiel’s stomach at Dean’s words. He didn’t need to hear any more.

Instead of continuing into the kitchen, he paused in his tracks, face burning with shame, and took a deep breath, trying to collect himself. Then, he intentionally tried to make noise by  loudly collecting the dishes that were left on the dining table. Castiel waited for the muffled sound of Dean’s hasty hangup before he braced himself and walked into the kitchen.

Dean, looking as irritatingly perfect as ever, was standing over Castiel’s stove wearing yesterday’s clothes. His mouth twitched into something like a smile as he slid his cell phone into his pocket and absently waved the spatula in Castiel’s direction. “Mornin’.”

“Good morning.” The words sounded harsh. “You made breakfast.”

Dean looked down at the frying pan he was holding as if he were seeing it for the first time. “Uh, yeah. It was in the fridge. Bacon and eggs. You hungry? S’great for hangovers.”

Castiel slid his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants. “Thanks, but I’m fine for now.”

Dean’s gaze met his before flickering away. _Yeah_ , Castiel thought, _we definitely aren’t talking about last night_. “Well, I, um, I’d better get movin’. Garth’s meetin’ me to give me back my keys and everythin’.”

Castiel nodded. “I understand.”

Dean abandoned the stove and briefly patted his pockets, sweeping his gaze around the kitchen before making eye contact with Castiel. For a long, tense moment, they just looked at each other. Then it was over as quickly as it had started, Dean’s gaze dropping to his feet “The party was really fun, Cas.”

Castiel nodded once. He could practically feel the gap opening between them. “I’m glad.”

Dean’s eyes met his for just a fraction of a second before he was saying, “Well, I guess I’d better—” He stepped out of the kitchen, crossing the dining room to the front entrance. Castiel watched him leave, the front door closing sharply behind someone who he doubted he would see for quite some time.

“Well,” he said into the silence. “Looks like it’s just you and me again, Bastet.”

From the far corner of the dining room, Bastet let out a little chirp before padding over to Castiel, hesitantly looking up at him.

* * *

 

“Jesus fuck shit— NOT NOW, BASTET— goddamn fucking socks—”

Castiel hopped around his bedroom, one eye on the clock as he desperately tried to pull on his left sock. If he didn’t leave his house in two minutes, he was going to be late on his first day as the new Theology Professor and Department Chair at Oberlin College. No pressure.

Seething and almost sweating through his button-down, he gave one last tug and the sock finally cooperated. “Thank you Zeus and all your pretty bastards!” He lunged for his bed, grabbing his suit jacket and the pair of semi-fancy shoes he’d somehow remembered to dust off the night before. Bastet meowed and ran after him, almost getting tangled in his feet as he charged downstairs.

At the foot of the stairs, he paused to slip on and lace up his shoes and perform a mental double-check of the contents of his briefcase. Laptop - check. Fifteen copies of his syllabus - check. His planner, favorite pen, and course schedule - check. His phone - check. His new set of business cards and office hours - check.

“All right, Bastet!” He gave her a quick pat on the head before straightening up and shouldering his briefcase (which was really a satchel), trying to ignore the butterflies that had made a home in stomach. “I’ll see you this evening. Don’t pee on anything while I’m gone.”

Bastet’s reply was swallowed in the snap of his back door as he made his way out of the house and down the garden path. A moment later, he was pushing the button to open the automatic door of his garage and settling himself behind the wheel of his Rambler before he started the engine.

The Rambler’s gentle purr threw his memory back to the night he and Dean had christened the Rambler by parking in the drive-in, eating greasy but wonderful food, and chatting through most of Rear Window. Castiel snorted, pushing the image out of his mind, and pulled out into his driveway. He paused for a moment to press the little button on the remote that would close his garage door, taking a deep breath in another attempt to flush out the butterflies. Then, he inched out onto the road and turned in the direction of the highway, ignoring the sunny yellow house that gleamed at him from across the street.

* * *

 

Castiel managed to get lost on the way to his new office, even though he’d been there at least two or three times before. He was staring absently at a room number he didn’t recognise when a bright voice chirped from somewhere to his left: “Lost, Dr. Novak?”

“Yes, I—” He turned, saw who the speaker was, and smiled in relief. “Hael. Thank God. I don’t know what happened—”

She chuckled good-naturedly. “First day jitters. Happens to the best of us.” Castiel had liked Hael from the very beginning: her pleasant, open face encouraged friendship and her bright blue eyes were sharp and observant. In other words, she was one hell of an assistant. She started to lead him down the hall, her stride quick and efficient. “You weren’t too far off the mark. Your office is just one floor up, is all.” Hael reached for the door to the stairwell and started up the flight of stairs.

Castiel sighed as he followed her. “Good thing I wasn’t in a different building altogether.”

“I’ll say. How was your summer?”

A series of words tripped over each other on the tip of Castiel’s tongue — _wonderful, amazing, life-changing, heart-wrenching_. “Interesting,” he finally settled on. “I actually did some time in the ER.”

She gasped as they reached the next floor, holding the door open for him. “What happened?!”

He grimaced slightly and stepped out into the hallway. _This_ he recognized. “Oh, just a car accident. I’m fine now.”

“Were you not fine before?”

“Well, I broke my foot and got a few scrapes, but everything healed the way it was supposed to.” He smiled as she directed him to a half-glass-half-wood door labeled _Professor Castiel Novak, PhD_ in silver letters. “It actually made things a bit boring.”

Hael scoffed. “Yeah, because broken limbs are _so_ boring.” She reached for the doorknob and pushed open the door, revealing her small office area, quaint and decorated with a variety of crocheted accessories and small indoor plants. The window on the far wall looked down on the sunny, teeming quad. “Does your foot hurt when it rains?”

He laughed easily, heading for the second door (also labeled with his name and credentials). “Don’t know. It hasn’t rained yet. But I’ll tell you when I find out.”

His office was still a little in progress — some of his books were still at his house, and two of his posters had yet to be hung. But his desk, couch, bookcases, and small table and chairs were just the way he’d left them back in June, oaken and shining in the sun streaming in from his windows. His windows lined the back and far walls (mimicking the design of Hael’s own office area) and gave him a full, almost-panoramic view of the quad and immediate campus. Surveying everything with an uncontrollably wide smile, he put down his briefcase and glanced at his posters. As if she’d read his mind, Hael appeared at his doorway.

“Did you decide which poster goes where?”

“Yes,” he replied. “But you haven’t told me about your summer yet.”

She grinned as she headed for the phone sitting on his desk. “I had a wonderful summer. I spent most of it exploring Barcelona with some friends.”

Castiel raised his eyebrows. “Wow.”

“I know. I really can’t complain. I’ll have to show you some pictures sometime.” Hael leaned against the edge of his desk, put the receiver to her ear, and pushed the speed dial for Facilities. “Hi, Jordan, this is Hael, up in Professor Novak’s office. He needs a couple things hung on his walls — would you mind sending Rosie over for ten minutes or so? Perfect. Yes, the door is open. Thanks.” She hung up and swept her long, dark hair over her shoulder. “So, have you printed the syllabus for your Intro class?”

“Yes,” Castiel replied, going around his desk, opening his briefcase, and pulling out the stack of syllabi. “Fifteen copies, right? That’s the last number I got for registration.”

Hael cleared her throat in one quick, delicate cough and stood up. “Well, actually, it’s up to thirty now.”

Castiel let out a small squawk of surprise. “Thirty?!”

Hael grinned at his reaction. “They actually had to cap it, and there’s a waiting list. What can I say, Prof?” She snatched a copy of his syllabus out of his hands and headed for the door, presumably on her way to the copier. “Your reputation precedes you.”

Castiel blinked, and heard a familiar buzzing sound from the pocket of his briefcase. He pulled out his phone, and saw three new text messages:

>Gabriel The Awesomest Ever: good luck today, lil bro. even if u fuck up, every god in the world is totally gonna save ur ass.

>Anna: Have a great first day, Castiel! I know you’ll do wonderfully :~)

>Dean: i hope u have a really good first day. they’ll love u, i promise.

 

His heart thumping, Castiel quickly typed out some replies:

< Gabriel the Awesomest Ever: Thanks, Gabe. Things are great so far. Also, when did you change your contact name? I haven’t seen you in months.

< Anna: Thanks, sis. Everything is going great! About to head to class. More details soon.

 

His mouth dry, Castiel stared down at the text from Dean, unsure of what to do. After a long moment, he swallowed painfully, deleting the text and turning off his phone, tucking it back into his briefcase and mentally readying himself for his first class.

* * *

 

If any surprise had to occur on his first day at Oberlin, Castiel was glad it was the addition of fifteen students to his intro class. They were all bright, welcoming, and, somehow, very excited to take his course, which wasn’t always the case at his previous school. After smiling his way through a half-hour of get-to-know-you games, Castiel moved through the syllabus with ease, making sure to emphasise his office hours and the level of work required for the course. “This may be a 100-level course,” he warned them, “but I’m going to expect a lot of you.”

Castiel spent lunch at what he privately christened the Religion Geeks Table. He was reacquainted with his department, the ten men and women he’d likely be spending the next ten years with, and chatted with them about how the new Catholic Pope was redefining the ethics of Catholicism and the new theories swimming around about extremism in America. He left for his office hours feeling thoroughly at home.

Since it was his first day, Castiel wasn’t expecting anyone to actually show up for his office hours. But, at 1:05, a hesitant hand tapped on his inner door, and he looked up from the working draft of his book in surprise.

“Professor Novak?” It was one of the freshman in his Intro seminar. Castiel mentally searched for her name as she tucked a bright pink strand of hair behind her ear. “I know it’s the first day and everything—”

“No, of course. Come in.” He capped his pen and pushed his draft aside, gesturing to the small table in the corner. Agnes. That was her name. “What did you have a question about?” He sat down at the table.

Agnes slid her backpack off her shoulder and nervously took a seat across from him. “I was reading your doctoral thesis over the summer—”

Castiel’s eyebrows shot up. “Really?”

Agnes gave him a small, relieved smile. “Yes, and, um.” She took a quick breath. “I had a question about your argument that Middle Eastern political comics at the turn of the twentieth century directly related to…”

Castiel grinned to himself as she kept on talking. _Holy shit_ , he thought. _I love this school._

* * *

 

Time carried on, and Castiel began to enjoy himself more and more as the days passed. Not only was his department (mostly) made up of talented individuals who came to their first departmental meeting with positive attitudes, but his students were vocal, passionate, and very good workers. Soon, Castiel was swamped, and he had to schedule his days down to the half-hour to allow for enough time to work on his book, grade his class’ assignments, outline his next paper, and flesh out lesson plans for the coming week.

He never ended up replying to the text from Dean, and he hadn’t heard from Dean since. Castiel wasn’t really expecting to. Everything between them was so… jagged. He didn’t know what to do or say given their last flimsy interaction, and was alarmingly grateful for the amount of work he had to do. And for their opposite schedules. Back when they were still around each other, Dean had mentioned picking up more night shifts now that Sam’s school year was starting, and Castiel had teased him about being in it just for the pudding the hospital served at dinner.

The transition from spending all of his free time with Dean to not spending any time with him at all was eased by the amount of work Castiel had to do, and by Hael’s insistence that she show him more of Cleveland. But, it wasn’t as if Castiel hadn’t seen Dean at all. On the weekends, he’d see Dean roll out his old-fashioned lawn mower and trundle around the small patches of grass on the front and sides of his house, unhelpfully shirtless. If Castiel came home late, he’d sometimes see the lights on in Dean’s house, sometimes even the blue flicker and muted sound of a television. And, he’d hear the Impala’s signature rumble and Led Zeppelin’s signature drums at least twice a week, either late at night when insomnia and the nightmare had him in their grip, or in the afternoon, when Dean would slump in the driver’s seat and slowly drag himself up his front walk. But, every appearance was marked by the memory of Dean’s phone conversation, the words rattling around in Castiel’s mind, and Castiel would turn away from the window, feeling a muted burn of pain.

He and Hael, as he’d expected, quickly became firm friends. They’d even met up for brunch once or twice, Hael taking the opportunity to show Castiel around Cleveland, which he still hadn’t really explored. His favorite place so far was Bella’s Chocolates: “The best damn chocolatier east of the Mississippi,” Hael claimed. Castiel had to admit that their chocolate turtles were especially delicious. He took to keeping a small take-away box of them in his office.

As autumn approached, the weather grew chillier, and soon Castiel was digging his favorite trench coat out of the closet. Gabriel had always hissed whenever the trench appeared (“It’s khaki and your worst fashion choice _to date_ — yes, this is worse than the tie-dye—”) but Castiel was very fond of it, having owned it since his freshman year of college.

Friday, October 2nd, was the first day it rained. Castiel discovered that his right foot did in fact hurt — a quite surprising amount — when it rained; Hael burst into laughter when he appeared at his office door soaked down to his suit (he’d forgotten his umbrella) and wearing the expression of a bad-tempered elderly bulldog. He took off his poor trench coat, hung it on the coat stand to dry, and stumped into his office, favoring his left foot. “Yes,” he said to Hael, fighting down his own laughter. “My foot hurts when it rains. It’s very unhelpful.”

Friday, October 2nd, was also the day that Dean showed up on Castiel’s porch at 6:03 in the evening, holding a bleeding Bastet and dripping all over Castiel’s welcome mat. “Thank God you’re home,” Dean said, his voice trembling as thunder rolled through the sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first: i've never been to oberlin and i only have a very crude understanding of the campus layout, so i definitely took some liberties with the size of castiel's department (although i did research that!) and with castiel's office layout - i don't know where the quad is, or if there even is a quad, or if the theology dept's offices are right above the quad.  
> also: yes, i know that cas is a little young to be a full-out professor. BUT, as you'll find out later (wink), his credentials and status in his field are crazy good, and oberlin (at least, in this universe...) offered him both the departmental chair and professor positions to make their offer the most lucrative out there, especially because they wanted to reinvent their theology dept and make it a lot better. cas's popularity is also why his course was suddenly so full.... ;) 
> 
> again, thank you so much for reading! reviews are highly appreciated :3 i love talking to you guys!!! <3


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *flings words at you* here have a super long chapter!
> 
> and HUBRISANDWAX IS A GODDESS AND YOU SHOULD ALL BOW DOWN TO HER just sayin'. she made this mess readable. forever indebted <3 <3 <3
> 
> now that i'm not in endless tech weeks anymore and got into college, i have a lot more time on my hands :) so updates should be happening more frequently. i don't really have a ballpark for how many chapters are left, but i do know the story arc. i'm not one for super long fics, though, so i don't imagine this going over 20/22 chapters. at most. 
> 
> OH - so here's the follow-up to the cliff-hanger :)

Castiel felt his jaw drop. “Dean? What—”

“I don’t know what happened.” Dean’s lower lip trembled and he inhaled sharply. _He’s really upset_ , Castiel realized with surprise. “I just got home from my shift, and I was on my front porch when I heard a car hit the brakes—” He swallowed thickly. “And then there was this howlin’, and the first thing I thought of was—” Dean paused to take another breath. “She’s hurt, Cas. She’s hurt real bad.”

His heart pounding, Castiel reached for Bastet, careful not to touch the bloody gash on her side. Her heart was beating so quickly that it felt like a flutter, her flank heaving as she breathed. “When did this happen?”

“Just now.” Dean stared at him. “You didn’t hear anythin’?”

“No, I was in the kitchen.” Castiel tried to slow his breathing in order to calm himself. “I need to get her to the vet.”

“Wait.” Dean stepped into the front entryway, dripping rainwater onto the wooden floor. “I’m comin’ with you.”

“Dean, don’t be ridiculous—”

“I’m not bein’ ridiculous. I’m comin’ with you.”

Castiel huffed, not looking at Dean. “Fine. Your call.” He turned for the stairs. “Give me one second.” He ran upstairs, pulling open the linen closet and grabbing a stack of towels. He charged back downstairs, pausing only to pull on his trenchcoat and check that he had his car keys. “C’mon,” he said roughly to Dean, stepping past him. “We should cover her up so she doesn’t get too wet.” He shook out a towel and laid it gently over Bastet, who turned her big, shaken eyes on him. Feeling a pang in his chest, Castiel leaned in, ignoring the proximity of Dean’s warm torso, and stroked the top of her head, kissing the soft fur between her ears. “You’re going to be fine,” he murmured. “I promise.” He kissed her again before he straightened up. Dean was staring at him. “What?” Castiel asked, rather gruffly.

“I— nothin’, nothin’.” Dean dropped his gaze and stepped onto the porch, letting Castiel reach behind him to lock the door.

They both ducked their heads against the downpour and made their way to Castiel’s garage. Castiel keyed in the code to open the door and they both reached the car with a sigh of relief. Castiel unlocked the car and threw two towels across the bench seat, trying to cover the leather as best he could. “All right,” he said to Dean. “Get in.” Castiel settled behind the wheel, his wet shoes squeaking against the pedals.

Dean gently sat down and closed the passenger door, trying his best not to jostle Bastet.

“You know where the emergency vet is?” Castiel asked, starting the car.

Dean nodded. “Yeah. I can get you there.” He ran a hesitant finger along the top of Bastet’s head and she let out a little mew in response. “Why did you do the thing with the towels?”

Castiel pulled out into the street. “Makes cleanup easier.” He glanced at Dean. “Speaking of, you’re toweling off the second she’s out of your hands. We can’t have you getting pneumonia.”

Dean mumbled something in reply, but it was lost against the sound of the Rambler’s engine and the steady pounding of the rain.

 

* * *

 

Castiel leaned his head back against the standard-hospital-white wall and continued his internal and systematic cursing of the many deities he was familiar with. Here he was, waiting for news of Bastet’s condition, his stomach a roiling mess of emotions thanks to the presence of a very damp and sleepy Dean, who was sitting not two feet away. Castiel knew that he still had feelings for Dean, and that they were somehow still friends, but everything was thrown off by the pangs of hurt and insult that overrode his thoughts every time he looked at Dean. Now, when they were the only occupants of the vet’s waiting room, the tension between them was thick enough to slice and serve up with a side of fries, and it didn’t help that Dean would glance at him every minute or so with this look of worry, like he was waiting for Castiel to blow up.

A few very painful minutes later, the vet reappeared, her expression clear of the strain that had shown when Dean handed over Bastet’s limp form. “Mr. Novak?”

He stood up accordingly, ignoring the way Dean did the same. “What’s the verdict?”

“Yeah,” Dean added. “Is she gonna be okay?”

The vet smiled at them both. “Luckily, she didn’t have any internal injuries. It seems that she tried to duck under the car and just got clipped by the bumper, which means there was less of an impact. We easily stitched up the cut on her side, but she does have a broken leg. We’ll cast her up before we put her down for the night. She’s going to be in the cast for at least four weeks.”

Castiel exhaled slowly, feeling the stress and adrenaline start to bleed out of his system. _Thank God it’s not worse_. “How long will she stay here for?”

“We’re going to keep her until she’s stable. Maybe two or three days.”

Castiel nodded once. “Are there any more papers I have to sign?”

“Yes.” The vet gestured in the direction of her secretary, who was sitting at the front desk. “Linda can help you out.” She gave them both a wide, reassuring smile. “Bastet will be just fine, Mr. Novak. Don’t you worry.”

“Thank you, Doctor.”

With a last wave, the vet retreated to her rooms, and Castiel stepped up to the desk. The assistant started explaining to him about fees as he filled out a clipboard stacked with forms about treatment and care and a lot of things he didn’t have the energy to think about. When he was finished, he capped his pen and handed the clipboard to Linda. “Is there any chance I could see Bastet before I leave?”

She nodded. “Of course. Just go through those doors—” she gestured to the double doors on her right “—and the care center is the first room on your left.”

He tried to smile at her. “Thanks.” He put down the pen and pushed through the doors, scanning the hallway until he saw a room lined with metal cages and emitting various whimpering and meowing sounds. He stepped into the sterile medical room, glancing around until he saw Bastet lying across the top of a pristine metal table, her side shaved and the gash sealed with neat little stitches. She was motionless, her eyes shut, breathing steadily under the influence of the sedative. Castiel leaned in closer and laid a careful hand on her shoulder, his thumb stroking the edge of her front leg.

“I can’t believe you got hit by a car,” he murmured, brushing a kiss by her ear, his hand shaking. “Was this just a ploy to get Dean back into our lives? And yes, you’re completely capable of that. Don’t think I haven’t heard the way you’ve been complaining over the last month.” Castiel stroked a careful fingertip along her fuzzy cheek. “You have to promise me that you’re gonna rest up, and get better. The house is going to be too quiet without you.” Castiel bestowed one final kiss on her head and pulled something out of his pocket — Bastet’s favorite blanket, worn down by countless naps and years of kneading. He tucked the blanket next to her. “I don’t know yet whether I should thank you or make you wear the cone of shame for the next week.” He smiled. “I’ll let you know when I figure it out.”

 

* * *

 

The drive back to their neighborhood was… awkward, to say the least. The moment he started the car, Castiel plugged in a cassette tape of Beethoven’s fifth symphony and cranked up the volume loud enough to discourage any kind of conversation. Castiel could feel Dean’s gaze burning a hole in the side of his head. It took all his willpower not to stare right back. By the time he pulled up in front of Dean’s house, the rain still coming down in sheets. He lowered the volume enough to speak.

“Dean, thank you for, you know, saving Bastet the way you did.” Castiel paused to take a breath and keep himself from saying everything he actually wanted to say. “If you hadn’t been here, I don’t know if she would’ve made it. So thank you.” Castiel steeled himself and glanced to his right.

Dean looked as though he’d been slapped across the face, staring at Castiel with such an expression of disbelief and hurt that Castiel almost regretted it, almost regretted cutting Dean out of his life. But then he remembered that fateful Sunday morning. The shame still pooled thick in his gut.

“No problem,” Dean replied, his voice unsteady. “I’m just glad I got to her in time, that she’s okay.” He blinked. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if she… y’know.”

Castiel inhaled slowly. “Yes, well…”

Dean seemed to take the hint. He popped open his door and stepped out into the downpour.

“Hey,” Dean said, raising his voice slightly over the rain, which was catching in his hair and collecting over his eyelashes. It was altogether very distracting. “Will you tell me when she comes home? I’d like to see her, if that’s cool.”

Castiel paused, unsure of what to say. He finally decided on, “Of course. It’ll be sometime in the next three or four days.”

Dean gave Castiel a weak smile. “Sounds great, Cas.” He raised his left hand in a final wave. Castiel nodded in return, and a moment later, Dean pushed the passenger door closed. Trapped in the car, Castiel stared at the blurry outline of Dean’s body for a moment before he shifted back into first. “Right,” he said aloud. “Fuck this.” He pulled away from the curb, bypassing his house, and gunned for the center of the city.

 

* * *

 

Castiel banged the shot glass back down onto the wooden counter. “Another, please,” he said to the bartender, the edges of his words somewhat slurred.

“Sure thing.” The bartender, an attractive young man with half a shaved head and several facial piercings, gave him a wry look as he went to pour Castiel another shot of whisky. It was his third. A moment later, the bartender slid the shot to Castiel, who caught it and raised an eyebrow at the amber liquid before quickly tossing it back. He gritted his teeth against the burn before chasing it with a mouthful of beer.

“Professor Novak?”

Castiel turned at the request and immediately regretted it. “Hael.”

She was staring at him, her blue eyes wide. She warily approached him and leaned on the bar. “What are you doing here?”

Castiel snorted, a grin spreading across his face. “What, just because I’m a stuck-up religion professor I’m not allowed to have a life?”  

“No,” she replied, the corner of her mouth twitching. “I meant, what are you doing here _alone_? Drowning your sorrows?”

Castiel stifled a hiccup and returned his gaze to the glass of beer in front of him. “ _Trying_ to drown my sorrows. I’m not doing a very good job of it.”

Hael smiled at that. “This much is probably true.” She eased herself up onto the stool next to him, putting down her glass. “C’mon, Prof. Talk to me.”

Castiel frowned. “Hael, you’re my assistant. There are… boundaries. And we crossed about a third of them when you stopped to say hi.”

Hael scoffed. “Boundaries-shmoundaries. I’m your friend, too, Castiel. And quite honestly, I’m worried about what you might do to that beer if you _don’t_ talk to me.”

Castiel chuckled without humor and slid the glass of beer slightly further away from him. “All right, I get it.”

They were silent for a moment before Hael nudged his elbow. “C’mon, Prof. Tell me what’s going on in that ridiculously large mind of yours.”

Castiel exhaled, catching the scent of alcohol on his own breath. He took one glance at Hael’s kind, sympathizing expression and spilled everything. He told her about his car accident, the night in the hospital, his meet-cute with Dean, about all the moments of their brief but strong friendship. He told her about how Dean drove him to every follow-up xray, how Dean would constantly hassle Castiel over remembering to eat, how Dean helped find Castiel his new car, and how Dean had put together the celebratory party for him. By the time he reached the point of the overheard phone call, Hael was listening intently, her mouth quirked in the funny way that meant she was paying close attention. Castiel barreled on, positive that he was talking too much, and told her about the events of that evening, how he’d ended up at the emergency vet with the single person in Cleveland that he could barely stand to see.

“So,” he summed up, “that’s why I’m here. Drowning my so-called sorrows.” He gave a self-deprecating laugh and raised his glass. “Pathetic, isn’t it?”

Hael considered this as Castiel took another swallow of beer. “It’s a little pathetic, I suppose,” she finally said. “But really it’s just… super over-dramatic.”

Castiel nearly choked on his next sip of beer. “Pardon?”

“Well, yeah, it’s definitely sad. The whole used-to-be-best-friends thing, and the way you guys kinda split apart. But the way neither of you talked about what happened, not to mention the ridiculous sexual tension between you two… it’s all just really dramatic.” She took a sip of her drink. “You should talk to him. I don’t think he knows why you dropped him, or why you two don’t talk anymore.”

Castiel gaped at her. “Sexual… tension?”

“Undeniably.” Hael patted his hand. “You really should tell him what you overheard and see what he has to say. It isn’t fair to keep him in the dark, and he’s probably really hurt at the way you’ve been ignoring him.”

“But—but—I—” Castiel spluttered.

Hael smiled triumphantly. “See? You don’t even have a counterargument.”

“Hael.” Castiel took a steadying breath and deeply regretted the amount of alcohol in his system. He really didn’t have much of a tolerance. “I can’t just—”

“Of course you can,” she insisted. “Listen. Do you still want to be friends with him? I mean—” she added as Castiel opened his mouth to argue “—I know you still have this crazy-huge crush on him, but would you rather be friends with him than not?”

Castiel shut his mouth and stared down at the polished oak of the bar, trying to think. His mind was a whirling mess of confusion, embarrassment, and sheepishness, but before he knew it, his mouth was opening again and he was saying, “Yes.”

Hael grinned. “That’s what I thought.”

Castiel sighed, his body hunching forward as he put all of his weight on his elbows. The bottom of his glass of beer looked very inviting. “I’m… not looking forward to doing this.”

Hael gently rubbed his arm. “But it’ll be a good thing for you to do. Healthy, even.” She hopped off her stool, surprisingly chipper. “Now. I’m going to drive you home and make you drink a very large glass of water before you really regret this little bar visit.”

He frowned at her, fumbling in his pocket for the keys to his car. “Haven’t you been drinking?”

She shook her head. “That’s a glass of Sprite, Professor.”

“Probably a smarter decision than the one I made.” Castiel hauled himself off his stool, feeling the world tilt around him. “I’m already regretting this.” He handed her the keys.

Hael smiled and slid her arm through his. “Then I guess it’s a good thing I came along.”

 

* * *

 

Bastet was miserable. She stared woefully up at Castiel as he approached her. He had to admit that she did look rather pathetic, what with her shaved flank, a plastic cone fastened around her thin neck, and her back leg wrapped up in a little blue cast. Regardless, he was thrilled to see her so awake and healthy; she had definitely improved over the course of the past couple of days. He nuzzled her front paw with the tip of his finger while the vet talked him through how to take proper care of Bastet; how she should be kept in a comfortable, clean area and not allowed to be mobile until she was used to the cast, how he should carry her up and down stairs, when she would have to have her bandage changed and her stitches and cast removed, etc. When he finally picked Bastet up to slide her into her carrier, she pushed her cold nose into his cheek and started giving his chin a thorough licking. Chuckling, Castiel pressed a kiss to her clinical-smelling head and slowly tucked her into her carrier, which was lined with her blanket, a few washcloths, and a small pillow. Bastet, thankfully, was not a complainer, and it was without caterwauling that Castiel waved goodbye to the vet and her assistant.

The ride home was quick, the streetlights gleaming under the overcast sky. The rain from the previous weekend had softened to a drizzle by Monday, but the thick layer of purplish clouds had continued to lean on the city like an unwanted elbow pressed against a shoulder. “Home sweet home,” Castiel said to Bastet as he carefully carried her through the damp garden and in through the back door.

He’d taken a shallow, wide oval basket that he’d had since he’d found out about his acceptance to Harvard's grad program (Gabe had had an especially eccentric taste in celebratory gift baskets), and lined it with an old duvet folded thrice. When he popped open the latch on her carrier, Bastet tried to crawl out, her ears perking up in excitement. He gently slid a hand under her stomach and lifted her up, laying her in the basket and making sure her cone was properly fastened. Pulling off his trench, undoing the top button of his shirt, and tugging his tie a little looser (he’d gone to the vet straight from school), Castiel sat down on the floor in front of her.

“Goodness me,” he said, carefully threading his fingers through the fur on her back. “You’ve really gotten yourself into a mess.”

“Mrrawp,” Bastet replied, her eyes squeezing shut as she purred.

“Yeah, I’m sure you hate all the extra attention.” Castiel smiled, but it faded as he remembered his promise to Dean. He gave a lengthy sigh and reached into his pocket with his free hand, pulling out his phone.

 

< Dean: She’s home and ready for visitors, if you aren’t on shift.

 

He wasn’t expecting a quick reply, but less than a minute later:

 

> Dean: gi mme 2 m   ins

 

Castiel’s heart rate picked up and he swallowed thickly, reaching up to undo another button on his shirt. Bastet opened her eyes and peered at him questioningly. “What?” he asked her. “You’re the one who got me into this mess in the first place.”

Bastet started purring again, and Castiel swore she smirked.

Less than three minutes later, Castiel watched the front door of Dean’s house open as Dean appeared, wearing a pair of rumpled scrubs and his customary leather jacket. Dean glanced nervously at Castiel’s house as he approached, rubbing his palm against his bearded jaw as he pushed open Castiel’s front gate. He continued up the front walk and cleared his throat just before he disappeared from Castiel’s line of sight, and a moment later, there was a light knock at Castiel’s front door.

“Holy Hades.” Castiel reached for Bastet’s basket, softly lifting her up and sliding her onto the couch. “Don’t move,” he warned her, pulling off his suit jacket and tossing it onto an armchair as he stood. He stopped for a moment, tried to take a calming breath, and went to open the door.

Dean was standing on the welcome mat, shifting his weight from foot to foot and giving Castiel a nervous little smile. “Hey, Cas.”

“Dean.” Castiel almost smiled. He stepped back and held the door open. “She’s on the couch. And be gentle.”

“I’m always gentle,” Dean assured him, his smile getting cockier. He stepped into the entryway, peeking into the living room as he pulled off his jacket and hung it on the coatstand. “Hi, Princess,” Dean called to Bastet as he went into the living room, leaving Castiel dying internally and taking longer than he needed to close the front door.

“Had a bit of trouble, huh, sweetie?” Dean was kneeling in front of the couch, delicately running his fingers up and down Bastet’s side, careful to avoid her stitches. “But don’t worry about it. It’s just a couple of bruises. You’ll be up and about before you know it.” He smiled and leaned forward, nearly nose to nose with her: Bastet sniffed his nose with interest before giving his bearded cheek a small lick. “Yeah, I missed you too.” Dean pressed a soft (and, Castiel imagined, whiskery) kiss to her head.

Castiel didn’t realize his mouth was hanging open until a slight breeze blew across his tongue. Blushing again, he cleared his throat in a quick cough and went into the living room with some reluctance. “I didn’t catch you at a bad time, did I?”

“Nah,” Dean said, his attention still on Bastet. “My shift ended this morning. I just didn’t bother to change before I crashed.”

“Hence the scrubs.”

Dean grinned. “Hence the scrubs.” He turned his gaze to Castiel, who repressed the urge to fidgit. “So how’re you doin’, Cas? With school and everythin’?” He put on his Nurse Face and glanced down at Castiel’s leg. “How’s the foot?”

“Foot’s fine.” Castiel held up his right leg and rolled his ankle in midair to prove it. “I’m running every morning, and physical therapy’s going well. Dr. Bradbury and I are actually kind of friends. It’s nice.”

Dean nodded in approval, still smiling a little. His medium-length beard made his general face and neck area more attractive than usual, and for a moment Castiel was gripped by a severe urge to find out what it felt like against his mouth. “Dr. Bradbury’s great,” Dean replied. “She really knows her stuff. You’re in good hands.” He looked at Castiel again, his eyes a tad more calculating than before. “But, y’know, how’re you?”

“Fine,” said Castiel, nice and short. He turned towards the kitchen. “I have to feed her.” He walked away, the back of his neck and his ears burning. When he reached the kitchen, he gripped the edge of the counter and leaned over it, closing his eyes and wondering what the hell he was going to do.

“So.” Dean had materialized in the doorway behind Castiel. “How long ‘til she’s better?”

Castiel slowly opened his eyes and stared fixedly out the window above his sink. “Ten days for the stitches. And the head cone. Four weeks for the cast.” He straightened up and opened one of the nearest cupboards, keeping his back to Dean as he pulled out a can of Fancy Feast. “But you probably already guessed that.”

There was a beat of silence, then: “What’s goin’ on, Cas? I mean…” Dean appeared to struggle for the words. “I haven’t talked to you in over a month, and you’re bein’ all… Did I do something wrong? Are you mad at me?”

Castiel barely refrained from slamming the can down on the counter. “‘I’m gonna head out,’” he said loudly, his voice harsh and grating. “‘I just wanna get out of here as soon as I can. Cas is a great guy, but I need some space. I’m just here ‘til he wakes up, then I’m gone.’” He whirled round, his stomach boiling. “Sound familiar?!”

Once again, Dean looked as though someone had slapped him, or maybe hit him over the head with an anvil. He was staring at Castiel, gobsmacked, his mouth hanging open. “I—I don’t—” He shut his mouth with a _click_. “You heard that?”

“Yeah. I heard it.” Castiel turned back to the counter, his jaw working. He popped open the can with more vigor than was necessary, and some of the Beef Feast in Gravy splattered onto the tiles.

“Cas, I—” Dean’s hand was at his shoulder, turning him back around. “That wasn’t what I meant, okay?! I didn’t mean it!”

Castiel shook off Dean’s hand. “Then why’d you say it?”

“Look, I…” Dean seemed to chew over his words before he figured out how to say them. “I’d never told anyone about… what happened to me. The whole why-I-became-a-nurse thing. I mean, yeah, my brother and Bobby know because they’re my family, but none of my friends know. Except for you.” He swallowed thickly, staring at Castiel. “I was an asshole. I know. What I said was a dick thing of me to say. But I couldn’t handle it, okay? I didn’t know how to handle the fact that you knew the truth about me. So I bolted.” He held out his arms in defeat. “I’m sorry, Cas. I’m sorry.”

“For the record, I don’t normally go around telling people about my history, either,” Castiel snapped. “You were the first person outside of my family who knew, but I’m not the one who insulted you and made you feel like shit after opening up to you.”

“I know, I know.” Dean stepped a little closer. “And I will apologize for that as many times as you want me to. Just, y’know…” A smile ghosted across his face. “Can we go back to, y’know, the way we were before?”

Castiel exhaled shortly and leaned back on the counter, crossing his arms against his chest. For a long, dragging moment, he was silent, turning everything over in his mind. He could hear the tick of the kitchen clock, Dean’s unsteady breathing, the caw of a crow on a nearby telephone pole. “I… I guess so,” he eventually said, feeling most of the tension leak out of his body. He lifted his eyebrows. “You gonna dick out on me again?”

Dean let out a little huff and his smile widened. “No. I don’t do that to my friends.”

Castiel almost chuckled, and after another moment of consideration, he held out his hand, ready to shake. Dean’s grin fully surfaced, and he gripped Castiel’s hand in return. “You’re ridiculous,” Dean said, and the next thing Castiel knew, he was being swept up into a huge hug that smelled like old leather and simple soap. “Why didn’t you talk to me sooner, you lunatic?” Dean asked, his voice rumbling against Castiel’s neck. “I… don’t know,” Castiel mumbled in reply. Grinning into Dean’s shoulder, he hugged Dean back, figuring that he could put up with a crush if it meant having a friend.

 

* * *

 

“So tell me,” Dean said through a mouthful of Kung Pao Chicken and Fried Rice about an hour later. “About this fancy-pants school’a yours. Are the other professors bein’ nice to you? Do the kids throw shit in class?”

Castiel swallowed a mouthful of Honey Walnut Shrimp and grinned. “Everyone’s been very welcoming, and they’re all very nice. And no, no one’s throwing anything,” he added pointedly, and Dean gave him the finger. Chuckling, Castiel continued: “The kids are crazy smart, and they’re taking my class because they actually want to learn about world religions, which is refreshing.” He bit into an eggroll. “The department’s definitely going to need some work, though. In the long-term. But I do get quite a bit of time to work on my book, so I’m not complaining.”

Dean blinked at him. “You’re writin’ a book?”

Castiel frowned. “I never told you about that?” When Dean shook his head, Castiel shrugged. “It’s my fourth. It’s basically just rewriting and editing my most recent paper, but it can get time consuming.”

“I’ll say. How do you have time for anythin’ other than schoolwork? I mean,” Dean put down his plate and held up his hand, starting to count off his fingers, “you got all the gradin’, lesson-plannin’, teachin’, book-writin’, and you’re workin’ on that new paper, aren’t you?”

Castiel nodded, busy chewing some Chow Mein.

Dean let out a short whistle and picked up his plate again. “Maybe it is a good thing you don’t sleep.”

Castiel started to laugh, but had to stop when a piece of green onion almost got caught in his airway. He fell into a coughing fit and gladly accepted the can of Coke Dean handed him. They were sitting cross-legged on opposite ends of Castiel’s couch, facing each other with Bastet in the middle and a myriad of Chinese food on the coffee table. Old Looney Tunes reruns were playing on the TV, but the sound was low enough for them to talk to each other. Castiel discovered how much there was for them to catch up on, and how glad he was that Dean had insisted on buying him dinner to partially make up for what had happened.

“Are you seein’ anyone?” was Dean’s next question, so abrupt that Castiel, having almost recovered, fell into another coughing fit.

“What?” Castiel finally gasped, his eyes watering.

Dean shifted, seemingly uncomfortable. “Are, uh, y’know.” He cleared his throat quickly. “You datin’ anybody?”

“No.” Castiel wiped his eyes as Wile E. Coyote smashed into a cliff face. “What gave you that idea?”

Dean shrugged, trying to pull off nonchalance despite the tense line of his shoulders. “The night that Bastet got hurt, I uh… I couldn’t sleep. I heard the Rambler and I saw someone go into your house with you, so I just kind of assumed…” He shrugged again and took a sip of his Coke.

Castiel was gaping for the third time that night. “No, that’s—that’s Hael! She’s my assistant!”

“Your assistant?” Dean frowned. “What were you doin’ with your assistant on a Friday night?”

“I was at a bar in town, getting kind of shitfaced, and she happened to be there, too, and she sort of talked me off the ledge, so to speak.  She also wanted to make sure I was okay, so she drove me home.” Castiel tactfully neglected to mention the way she’d also lectured him about Dean and put up with Castiel’s pining for the better part of half an hour.

The wrinkle in Dean’s forehead deepened. “Why were you gettin’ drunk?”

“I… was upset about Bastet. And school was kind of rough that day. I just… needed a little break.”

“Mmkay.” But Dean didn’t look completely convinced. “She nice?”

Castiel smiled with some relief. “Yeah. She’s lovely. I think you’d really like Oberlin, Dean. It’s beautiful.”

Dean ploughed through some more Kung Pao Chicken. “Maybe I should come visit sometime. Sit in on a class, have lunch with the geek squad.” He gave Castiel a shit-eating grin. “See what all the fuss is about Professor Novak.”

“Ass.” Castiel threw a noodle at him. “But do you actually?”

“What, wanna visit?” Dean nodded. “Of course. You’ve seen me do my nurse thing, ‘bout time I saw you do your teacher thing.” He took another bite of his egg roll. “I got Friday off. Would that work?”

Castiel stared at him, surprised and slightly disbelieving. “I… yeah. Do you want to come in with me or get there on your own?”

“I’ll just come in with you. I don’t wanna do that drive alone.” Dean met Castiel’s gaze and raised an eyebrow. “Why? How early do you get there?”

“I usually leave here at seven-thirty, give or take. That way, I get in a good two hours’ work before my ten-thirty class.”

“Right,” Dean said loudly. “So we’ll go to the diner for breakfast at nine and leave around nine-thirty. Sound like a plan?”

Castiel grinned widely. “Yes, Dean. Sounds like a plan.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> love it? hate it? drop me a comment :) i love talking to you guys! and since when did this get 1500 hits??? so shocked. thank you so much for reading <3


	11. Interlude - Three Months Earlier

Dean frowned at the CD player and tried pressing the ON button again. Nothing happened. He let out a frustrated growl and pushed the thing away from him. It clattered against the side of the computer.

“Whoa there, Deano.” Garth turned his attention to his fellow RN. “Whatcha doin’ over there?”

Dean huffed in frustration. “I can’t get the damn CD player to work. I’ve tried like five times.”

Garth hmmed and reached over, his long fingers plucking the CD player away from Dean and running over the player’s shiny plastic surface. He tried a few buttons, then popped open the battery compartment on the bottom.

The creases in Dean’s forehead deepened. “I already put batteries in.”

“I can see that,” Garth replied, and a moment later, there was a bit of a click. He grinned in triumph, closed the battery compartment, and tried the ON switch again. This time, the little screen lit up in response, and he let out a pleased whistle as he tossed the player back to Dean. “Fixed it.”

Dean’s stare jumped between the player and Garth. “What’d you do?!”

Garth shrugged loosely. “One of your batteries was loose. That’s all.” He smiled at Dean’s indignant expression before adding, “Hey, why do you have a CD player? I’ve only ever seen you listen to tapes on that Walkman of yours.”

Dean prayed that he wasn’t blushing and reached into his backpack with a little cough. “Friend lent me a CD to listen to, and my car doesn’t have a CD player.”

“Ohhhh.” Garth nodded in understanding, but didn’t drop his sly look. “Friend, huh?”

“Yup.” Dean busied himself with untangling his earbuds. He preferred headphones if he couldn’t use a real stereo, but being on call meant having at least some of your focus on the real world.

“What’s the CD?”

“Metallica,” Dean deadpanned, putting the CD into the player (despite the well-worn appearance of its case, the CD was in pristine condition), squishing the earbuds into his ears, and hitting play.

It was silent at first, but then came the bright chime of flutes, soon joined by violins and instruments that Dean couldn’t name, but the music filled him, cheerful and light and beautiful, and, addicted to the sounds, he knew that he was going to have trouble giving this CD back.

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hEY LOOK AT THAT A SUPER-LONG CHAPTER

Castiel opened his front door and immediately started laughing. “No way.”

“What?” Dean smirked. “Don’t you think it suits me?” He adjusted his red tie, which stood out magnificently against his long-sleeved blue plaid.

“Honestly, I never thought I’d see you wearing a tie.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re hilarious.” Dean stepped away, waving Castiel forward. “C’mon, Prof. We gotta get goin’ if we want to eat before we leave.”

“Nag, nag, nag…” Castiel bent down to pick up his briefcase and pulled the strap of Bastet’s carrier over his shoulder (it was one of the fancy carriers with screened sides, a zip-up top, and a carrying strap); Bastet gave him a cheerful but sleepy meow as she swung against his hip. “Right,” he said, his keys in his free hand. “Let’s go.”

“Hold up.” Dean was staring at Bastet’s carrier. “Is that—?”

“Yes.” Castiel turned and pulled the front door closed, locking it quickly but carefully.

“Why—?”

“I don’t like leaving her alone,” Castiel replied, going down the front steps of his porch and setting out across his yard. “She isn’t used to the cast yet, and I’m too worried that she’s going to fall or pull out her stitches or something like that.”

“Yeah, but…” Dean followed Castiel, still bemused. “You’re taking her to school?”

Castiel nodded as the door to the garage pulled up. “She stays in my office. Hael watches her while I’m in class.” He shrugged and opened the car, carefully sliding Bastet into the backseat. “It’s easier that way.”

Dean’s response was a sneeze.

* * *

 

Dean peered down at the Visitor name tag on his shirt, picking at one of the corners. “Ten bucks says I’ll forget this is on my shirt and throw it in the washer just the same.”

Castiel clapped him on the shoulder and led him out of the Administrative Center. “Ten bucks it is. I’m just glad you didn’t get syrup on your tie.” Dean snorted but didn’t deny it. “So.” Castiel stopped on the edge of the quad, which was shining benignly in the weak sunshine. “What do you think?”

Dean raised his eyebrows, taking in the bubbling student population: the debates about Chaucer, the to-scale model rockets perched to take off, the lazy frisbee game dominating the top corner of the grass. “It ain’t half bad.” He threw Castiel a quick smirk. “They got auto shop?”

Castiel considered this. “Actually, I don’t know.” He checked the time on his watch and let out a small huff of frustration. “The tour will have to wait. My class starts in twenty minutes, and I still need to drop off Bastet. And you still need to meet Hael.”

“Ah. Yeah. Hael.” Dean flexed his jaw in a movement that he probably thought Castiel wouldn’t notice, but Castiel was far too good at reading Dean by this point, and Castiel smirked as he led the way to his office. For whatever reason, Dean was jealous of Hael, or at least threatened by her, and Castiel couldn’t fathom it. He did, however, find it highly amusing (and, if he had to admit it, really adorable).

Dean let out a low whistle as he stepped through the doorway to Castiel’s office. “Fancy digs.”

Hael stood up from her desk, smiling inquisitively. “And to what do I owe this pleasure?”

Castiel quickly stepped in, making sure Bastet’s carrier didn’t hit the doorframe. “Hael, this is—”

“Hi, I’m Dean.” Dean stepped forward, his grin huge and his hand outstretched. “Cas’ neighbor and resident best friend.” His slight emphasis on ‘best’ was hard to miss, which Castiel noticed with an odd flutter in his stomach.

Surprise flickered across Hael’s face, rapidly followed by appreciation, wariness, and, eventually, slyness. She took his hand and shook it. “Hello, Dean. I’m Hael, Castiel’s assistant.” Her gaze locked on Castiel and she smirked. “I’m glad we finally get to meet. Castiel has told me so much about you.”

“Really?” Dean turned to Castiel, surprised but still grinning broadly. “What you been sayin’ about me?”

“Just that you eat like a bulldozer and are secretly married to my cat,” Castiel covered smoothly, shooting Hael a death glare over Dean’s shoulder; her smirk widened in reply.

Dean chuckled. “Thanks, Cas, really feelin’ the love.”

“Don’t worry, you’re still a special little snowflake.” Castiel was kneeling now, gently lifting Bastet out of her carrier and into the little area they had set up for her by Hael’s desk, complete with food bowls and a small covered litter box. “Hael: she’s already eaten this morning, but she slept for most of the car ride so she might wander around a bit. Just keep an eye on her and make sure she doesn’t try to jump on anything.”

“I know, boss.” Hael went back to her desk and slid open one of the top drawers, pulling out a small stack of miscellaneous cat necessities, like cans of Fancy Feast and toys. “I’m basically a vet at this point.”

“Aren’t we all?” Castiel shot over his shoulder as he ducked into his office, grabbing his copies of the Sutras and Analects. “Now, what did I do with the handouts?”

Hael was already pushing them into his hand. “Thirty-two copies, just like you asked.”

“Hael, you are a goddess.” Castiel haphazardly tried to gather everything into his briefcase, almost dropping the handouts in the process. “Goddamn!”

“Easy there, Professor.” Dean plucked the books out of Castiel’s grip. “Can’t have you droppin’ your readin’ material.”

“No, we wouldn’t want that,” Hael added smugly.

Blushing, Castiel slid the handouts in next to his laptop. “Thank you, Hael. How much time do I have?”

Hael checked her watch. “Just over twelve minutes.”

“Perfect.” Castiel slung his briefcase over his shoulder and headed for the door. “Coming, Dean?”

“Of course. How could I let you go to class without your…” Dean peered at one of the books. “Buddhist Scriptures.”

“Yeah, there wouldn’t be much of a class without those. Hael, I’ll see you at lunch?”

“You bet,” she replied, still smirking in her infuriating way.

Castiel set off down the hall, Dean following close behind. “Hey, this actually looks kind of familiar. The book, I mean,” Dean added at Castiel’s raised eyebrow. “Not the school. The school still looks very new.”

“The book should look familiar,” Castiel answered, holding open the door to the stairwell. “You drew a comic of James Bond on page fifty-six.”

“No way.” Dean flipped through the book as he went down the stairs, letting out a cry of triumph when he found the correct page. “Hey! I do remember this!” He paused at the foot of the first flight, putting on his James-Bond pout and best Sean Connery impression: “I’ll take my martini Sutra, not stirred.” Dean cracked up, his nose wrinkling and his teeth shining as he laughed.

Castiel couldn’t suppress a smile as he passed Dean and headed down the second flight. “Yes. Hysterical.”

“What can I say?” Dean replied, following Castiel down the stairs. “I’m a comic genius.”

Castiel held open the exit door and grinned. “Oh, you’re a comedian all right.”

Dean laughed again as they stepped into the hallway. “Someone’s feelin’ sassy today.”

“It’s Friday and I’ve had a very long week. I have a right to be sassy.”

This hallway, unlike the hallway upstairs, was actually an example of student life. As Castiel and Dean continued in the direction of Castiel’s classroom, numerous students paused to say hello to the still-new professor.

“Hot damn,” Dean mumbled close to Castiel’s ear. “You didn’t tell me that they were all obsessed with you.”

Castiel flushed, both from Dean’s proximity and the exaggeration. “They aren’t obsessed with me—”

Dean chuckled. “That’s some pretty deep self-denial there, Professor.”

Castiel’s classroom was actually a small lecture theatre, with rows of seats staggered along the west wall. He and Dean were the first ones in there, since Castiel usually didn’t open the door until a few minutes before class started.

Dean went to put the books down on Castiel’s table before he took a good look around him. “Y’know,” he said, turning slowly on the spot to take everything in. “This school just gets prettier’n prettier.”

Castiel smiled as he hooked up his laptop to the projector, opening his presentation for the day. “Yeah. It has that effect.” When everything was set up, he grabbed a handout from the stack and went over to Dean. “Here’s today’s class.” He gave Dean the handout and gestured to the desks. “You might want to grab a seat before they come in. They’re very protective over their spots.”

“Gotcha. Back row, left corner. That’s me.” He gave Castiel a wink before turning and heading to the seats.

Castiel swallowed very quickly and crossed to the classroom door, opening it wide to the eager crowd before him. “Good morning,” he greeted them, smiling as his students filed in. He got the usual cacophony of “Good mornings” before they were all inside and he was closing the door again.

When everyone was settled, Castiel faced his class with a somewhat-nervous grin. “Suprabhaat, class.”

“Suprabhaat, shikshak,” they all chanted in reply (well, everyone except Dean, who was looking thoroughly bemused).

“All right, I hope you’ve all brought your copies of the Analects and Sutras, like I asked you to.” He swept up the pile of handouts and gave them to a student sitting in the first row, whose name was Damon. “Pass these down your row then hand them to the person sitting behind you, okay? Now, welcome to the third day of our unit on Eastern religions. We’ve only really begun to scratch the surface of these with Confucianism and Buddhism, but today, because it’s Friday and I wanted to mix things up a bit, we’re going to go a little outside of the box. As you can see from your handout, today we’ll be discussing the underlying themes of the supernatural in these two religions, specifically with regard to the roles of deities.” He flipped to the next slide and felt a surge of confidence at the way Dean was looking at him, all grin and pride. “All right. Let’s begin.”

* * *

 

“Thank you, Professor Novak,” three of his students (Mike, Raj, and Bella) chimed as they filed out of the room. “Have a good weekend!”

“You, too!” he replied with a smile as Agnes approached his front table. She quickly set down a large book with a blush that clashed against her pink hair. “Ah! I see you enjoyed this.” He’d only given it to her two days before.

“Very much,” she admitted, her blush lessening somewhat. “I especially enjoyed the way Tennent argued that—” And she was off, deconstructing her favorite pieces of _Theology in the Context of World Christianity_. Soon, they were discussing the role of the perceived Allah in Middle Eastern politics and Castiel had to cut them off when he noticed the time.

“Agnes, you should go before you miss your lunch hour.”

Her eyes widened with surprise: she had evidently lost track of time as well. “Oh! Yes. Um, maybe I could—”

Castiel smiled, already knowing what she would ask. “If you come by at the end of office hours, I’ll have another book ready and waiting for you.”

Agnes grinned widely. “That would be wonderful! Thank you so much, Professor!”

“Of course,” he replied. “I’ll see you later.” She left the classroom with a last wave, leaving him and Dean alone in the lecture hall.

Castiel turned to his friend, who was leaning against the first row of seats. “So, what’d you think?”

Dean looked at him for a long moment, his expression worked into something Castiel couldn’t identify, before he was closing the distance between them, his stride purposeful and intent. He stopped about six inches away from Castiel and took a breath, his eyes widening… before he pointedly reached forward and flicked Castiel on the forehead.

“Ow!” Castiel reared back, rubbing the spot Dean had hit. “What was that for?!”

Dean grinned. “For bein’ a little shit.” He reached forward and flicked Castiel again, on the same spot but harder.

“OW!” Castiel backed away, going around to the other side of the table so there was some space between them, completely bemused by Dean’s behavior. “How was I being—?”

“We’ve been friends for what, four months now?”

“Yeah, I guess—”

“And you never thought to tell me that you’re one of the most famous theology scholars in the country?! In the world, even?!”

“Oh.” Castiel clamped his mouth shut. “I’m… I’m not that important— you’re exaggerating—”

Dean huffed and held his phone screen-forward in Castiel’s face. “Yeah, it really looks like I’m exaggeratin’.” He had done a Google search of Castiel’s name and come up with a list of Castiel’s scholarly articles, links to buy Castiel’s books, newspaper articles about the “Bright New Assistant Professor at Harvard University,” and a few links to interviews he’d done with NPR out in Boston.

“I…” Castiel tried lamely before grabbing the phone and closing the window. “It doesn’t matter.” He slid the phone back across the table to Dean.

“Doesn’t matter?” Dean repeated, staring at him. “You just taught one of the few classes that hasn’t made me want to bang my head on the desk or a take a fuckin’ nap. I even took notes, Cas!” He waved his handout, which Castiel saw had a flurry of spidery writing in the margins and between the lines. “The only reason I know about it now is because the two girls sitting in front of me were lookin’ up your most recent book on their computers. So, I decided to do a little research for myself, and I found this gold mine.” He paused, quickly wetting his lips. “Why didn’t you tell me about any of this?”

“Because I…” Castiel’s mouth worked hopelessly as he tried to come up with an answer. “I was never good at being popular or, I don’t know, well-known.” He shrugged. “It wasn’t what mattered to me.”

Dean shook his head and pulled up one of the miscellaneous chairs that was floating around the classroom. “All right. You owe me a lesson in the History of Cas.” He sat down on the other side of the table. “Go.”

“Dean, we’re going to miss lunch—”

“Lunch can wait.” Dean folded his hands together like an expectant schoolboy. “You know my story. Time I knew yours.”

Castiel sighed in defeat, pulling up a chair and sitting across from Dean. “Okay. I went to Middlebury College for my undergrad. I mainly studied world religions, gender and sexuality, pop culture and media studies, Latin and Greek, some Ancient Hebrew…” He waved a hand dismissively. “Long story short, I took a lot of classes and got myself noticed, if not because I was working so hard that my advisor was worried for my health. Like I told you, I always just sort of knew that theology was what I wanted to study, specifically the role of world religions on politics, pop culture, and global media. I was accepted into Harvard’s graduate program, where I published several papers mostly out of my own boredom and partially because I couldn’t fit everything I wanted into my doctoral thesis. For my thesis, which was about how religious views on gender and sexuality are reflected in respective Eastern and Western society and pop culture, I traveled to several different countries for research and published my thesis by the time I was twenty-six.” He shrugged again. “I’m a fast worker. By that point, Harvard had decided that it wanted me to stay on as Assistant Professor, so I accepted, and I worked there for four years, teaching courses like the one you experienced today and working on a new research project while I was getting my first couple of books in order. I also attended many symposiums and conventions, and guest-taught at several universities. At one point, NPR asked me to be a part of their speaker series, so I accepted, which is why, unfortunately, my voice is now forever on the Internet. Last winter, I decided that I wanted a change, so I used my contacts to start looking for different positions. Oberlin was one of the most lucrative offers, and they said they would give me a full Professorship if I tightened up and renovated their department as the Chair. So, I took it, and here I am.” Castiel blinked. “Can we get lunch now?”

Dean was staring at him. “Um…” he finally managed. “Yeah. Let’s do that. Let’s get lunch.” He stood up, looking a little dazed.

Castiel quickly gathered up his things while trying to hide the way he was watching Dean, worried that he’d made himself sound too impressive or smart or important. He worried his bottom lip with his teeth before he said, “Dean? You okay?”

Dean quickly flashed him an easy smile. “Yeah, just a little, I dunno, starstruck.” When Castiel started to huff in annoyance, Dean added, “No, it’s just that I’m friends with a celebrity nerd. It’s… it’s awesome.” His smile stretched into a genuine, blazing grin, and soon enough, Castiel found himself grinning back.

* * *

 

Dean made an altogether pornographic noise as he bit into his burrito; Castiel hurriedly dropped a napkin across his lap and tried to focus on his salad.

“Dude,” Dean drawled, licking some stay sour cream off his fingers (Castiel felt his insides turn to warm goop). “This is one of the best burritos I’ve ever had.”

Castiel tried to smile. “Yes, the food here is quite amazing.” He toyed with some romaine to distract himself.

“So how do these office hours work?” Dean asked around another mouthful, the habit disgusting but somehow completely endearing.

Castiel gave up on his salad and reached for his apple instead; they were eating lunch in his office, since their conversation had taken them dangerously close to the beginning of Castiel’s office hours. “I stay in my office for a certain number of hours and students come in with questions about the course or assignments or exams or reading recommendations. It’s very casual.” He took a bite of his apple and quickly licked away the juice that ran down the side of his hand. When he looked up, he caught Dean staring at him, supposedly having watched the entire movement. “What?” he asked. “I washed my hands.”

Dean gave himself a quick shake. “Nothin’.” He took a massive bite of his burrito. “So you’re cool with me just hangin’ out in here while you do your thing?”

Castiel scoffed. “Dean, don’t be ridiculous. I’m not going to make you stay in here. I asked Hael if she would take you on a tour of the school.”

Dean’s eyebrows flickered up in surprise. “Oh. Okay.”

Castiel gave him an apologetic smile. “I know. I’m sorry I can’t be the one to show you around. But Hael’s an alumna, so she actually knows the campus better than I do.”

“No kiddin’.” Dean looked somewhat impressed, and Castiel awarded himself a point in the category of (hopefully) getting Dean to be friends with Hael.

They were just finishing their lunches and a discussion of the musical score for each respective _Star Wars_ film when there was a light knock at Castiel’s office door. It was Raj, the bespectacled beanpole who had a particular interest in Shintoism.

Castiel stood up, shoving his lunch to the side. “Come in, Raj, come in.”

Raj’s gaze quickly darted to Dean, who was in the process of stepping aside and throwing his trash away. “Who’s—?”

“A friend. He’s visiting me for the day.” Castiel sent Dean a quick smile. “If you go and let Hael know that you’re ready, she’ll start showing you around.”

“Sure thing, Cas.” Dean smiled in return. “See you later.” He stepped out of Castiel’s office, and Castiel refocused on the matter at hand.

“So, Raj,” Castiel gestured to the seat across from him. “How are you finding those criticisms I lent you? Too dense, or not detailed enough?”

 

* * *

 

Two hours later, Hael reappeared in Castiel’s doorway, looking very smug. He was about to ask her where Dean was, but then the man in question came in behind her, his sleeves rolled up, his shirt unbuttoned and his tie loosened, a vague sheen of sweat and oil smeared across his skin. “Guess what, Cas?” Dean asked, gleeful. “They’re buildin’ robots!”

* * *

 

**Monday, 27 October, 9:08 P.M.**

> Dean: wut r ur plans 4 hallowe en

< Dean: Decorating my yard, dressing up as batman, handing out candy. You?

**Monday, 27 October, 9:24 P.M.**

< Dean: Dean? You there?

> Dean: yea just a patient medical

> Dean: doctor thing

> Dean: happened

< Dean: Okay?

> Dean: way i see it

> Dean: this can go 1 of 2 ways

< Dean: Oh yeah?

> Dean: we join candy forces & hand out 2gether

> Dean: or

> Dean: whoever hands out most candy WINS

< Dean: …

< Dean: You’re on.

* * *

 

Castiel loved Halloween. He loved its roots, the costumes, the decorations, the traditions, the candy… He especially loved the candy.

“Trick or treat!” chimed the chorus of second graders in front of him, most of them so bundled up that he could barely discern their faces, let alone their costumes. He was just thankful that his Batman costume was thick and had lots of padding. The day before, Ohio had been sent into a ridiculously random cold snap, turning one of the last weeks of autumn into what felt like deep winter, minus the snow. But, in spite of the freezing air and harsh wind, the kids were out in full force, their parents trailing behind them in parkas and balaclavas.

“Happy Halloween, kids!” he laughed, tossing handfuls of candy into each bag. “What a cute little group of monsters you are!” He’d given up his ‘stern/Christian Bale Batman’ impersonation half an hour before, since it was a little hard to maintain around blasts of frigid air and when the kids looked so ridiculous wrapped up in layers of their parents’ Patagonia. “Now, don’t eat those all at once! And stay warm!”

The kids giggled and scattered some thank-yous in his direction before they hurried off his porch, eager to get to the next house.

It was veering towards the later hours of trick-or-treat time, and now that the streams of children had thinned, Castiel had an opportunity to take a good look at his competition.

Dean, much to Castiel’s simultaneous chagrin and delight, was dressed as a cowboy, hat and chaps and everything (and as much as Castiel tried to ignore it, those chaps did things to him and sent his imagination to very unhelpful places). From what Castiel had seen, Dean had been his usual charming self for the whole evening, getting about as many trick-or-treaters as Castiel was. Castiel raised his hand in a brief wave, waiting to see Dean return it before he closed his door again and let out a shiver that wasn’t just because of the cold.

It took about another hour for the crowds to die out in earnest. It was nearing nine o’clock when there came Dean’s usual knock at the door. Castiel opened it with a grin, which faded when he saw Dean up-close.

“Hey, Cas.” Dean tried to smile, but he wavered where he stood, his eyes watering a little and his skin flushed. He was shivering. “Ready to find out who won?”

“I, um, yes?” Castiel quickly stepped aside to let him in and closed the door behind him; Dean’s fingers were grazing the wall for support as he made his way to the living room. “Are you okay?”

“Oh, oh yeah. I just didn’t sleep well last night.” Dean waved away Castiel’s worry as he collapsed on the couch and pulled out a small notepad that had vague scribblings across the page. Bastet, who was curled up in her basket next to him, let out a little chirp as he threaded his fingers through her fur. “You tally up yet?”

“Yeah,” Castiel replied, still wary. He sat down in the armchair by Dean’s end of the sofa and pulled out his own chart. They’d agreed on three pieces of candy per child and had even gone to the length of buying the same brands and bags of candy. “How many kids did you end up getting?”

Dean gave him a triumphant grin, or a watered-down version of one, anyway. “Hundred and twenty-seven. Beat that, Brucie.”

Castiel started to grin. “I did. One hundred and forty-six.”

That seemed to grab Dean’s attention. “What?” he gaped. “But you just moved in!”

Castiel shrugged and leaned back in his armchair. “What can I say? Everybody loves Batman!”

“Aw, you—” Suddenly, Dean let out a violent sneeze, followed by a fit of coughing.

Castiel stood up, alarmed, and grabbed Dean. “Dammit, I knew you were sick!”

“No, it’s nothin’,” Dean rasped. “‘m fine, ‘m fine!” He let out another sneeze.

Castiel scowled. “Yeah, right.” He pressed the back of his hand to Dean’s forehead and flinched at the heat. “Shit, Dean, you’re burning up.” 

“No, ‘m not!” Dean still blearily insisted, his eyes half-closed and unfocused. “‘m fine!”

“Yeah,” Castiel replied drily. “And I’m the Queen of England. Look, just hang tight for a moment, okay?” Dean nodded, and Castiel quickly made his way to the downstairs bathroom, pulling out the bottle of acetaminophen he always kept handy. He shook out a few pills and filled a glass with water. A moment later, he was pressing the pills into one of Dean’s hands and the glass into the other. “Come on. Drink.”

“Don’t wanna,” Dean croaked, frowning at the glass.

Castiel huffed impatiently. “You know, for a nurse, you can be really stubborn about not accepting medical help.” He leaned over Dean and raised an eyebrow. “Don’t make me force-feed you.”

Dean stared at him, wide-eyed. “Kay.” He tossed back the pills and took a quick swallow of water. He grimaced, presumably because of his sore throat, but finished off the glass at meeting Castiel’s stern look.

“Good,” Castiel told him, stepping away from the couch. “Now. You’re going to come upstairs with me, and you’re going to change out of your costume, okay?”

Dean nodded feebly, too exhausted to bother putting up a fight. He stood up slowly, looking as if every little movement hurt in some way. Castiel clucked his tongue and guided Dean up the stairs, fervently trying to ignore the way the chaps gave him a ridiculously enhanced view. When they reached his bedroom, he gently nudged Dean to sit down on his bed before turning to his chest of drawers and pulling out a pair of sweatpants, a t-shirt that advertised Harvard’s Philosophy Club, and a thick pair of socks.

He handed these articles to Dean. “Here. Get changed. Just let me know when you’re finished.” He started to step away, but Dean reached out and caught him by the sleeve.

“Wait,” Dean said, his voice huskier than usual because of his illness. “What’re you doin’?”

“Taking care of you, idiot.”

“Yeah, but…” Dean frowned in confusion. “But why?”

Castiel sighed a little. “Because that’s what friends do. I’m not about to let you leave in a state like this. Besides, you spent all of August nursing me back to health. It’s the least I can do.”

Dean stared at Castiel, his eyes glassy from the fever. “Okay,” he eventually mumbled. He let go of Castiel’s sleeve. “I’ll get changed.”

Castiel nodded and went out of the room, closing the door behind him. Letting out a mental stream of curse words, he pulled out his phone and began a new text:

 

< Hael: He’s here. In a cowboy costume. With the flu.

> Hael: have fun making him better ;D

Castiel let out a tiny groan and put his phone away, just in time to hear Dean call out, “Okay. ‘m decent.”

“One second,” Castiel replied, ducking into his bathroom and pulling out the one bottle of cold medicine that he owned. After peering at the label, he cracked open the lid and poured a little cupful.

Castiel went back into his bedroom, carrying the cold medicine. Dean had carefully folded all of the components of his costume and left them in a neat pile on one of Castiel’s chairs. Dean was sitting on the bed, still looking as if he didn’t quite know what to do with himself.

“Here,” Castiel said, holding out the cup. “This should make you feel a little better and knock you out.”

Dean looked at the medicine and sighed. “Cas, I can’t— you’re already bein’ so nice, and I think it would just be better if—”

“No,” Castiel insisted. “I don’t. You’re already working yourself too hard, and you need to get better the right way. Just stay here tonight and work on kicking this cold or flu or whatever in the balls.” He paused. “Besides, Bastet’s been wanting you to sleep over for quite a while.”

Dean huffed, almost laughing. “Okay, okay…” He took the medicine and quickly tossed it back, grimacing at the taste.

“All right,” Castiel said expectantly, gesturing to the bed. “Get in. Get snuggly. Under the covers, under the pillows if you really want to.”

Dean frowned. “Naw. I don’t want to mess up your bed and get you sick. Just lemme sleep on the couch.”

Castiel snorted. “As if. Now go on.” He raised his eyebrows, and a moment later, Dean gave in, snuggling under Castiel’s thick duvet and pressing his head against a plush pile of pillows on the same side he had slept on almost two months ago (Castiel distinctly heard him mumble, “This is so weird — Batman tryin’ to tuck me in—”). Dean snuffled a little before closing his eyes, the duvet tucked right up under his chin.

“Good,” Castiel mumbled to himself before turning to his chest of drawers and pulling out a shirt and a pair of pajama pants. He went back out into the hallway and quickly stripped out of his Batman costume, reaching around the doorway of the bathroom to throw it into the hamper, before he changed into his other clothes. He made sure to grab an extra pillow and duvet from his linens cupboard, and when he went back downstairs, he gently tossed them onto one end of the couch. Then, he performed his usual closing-up routine, wiping down the kitchen and making sure all the doors and windows were locked. He turned out all of the lights except for the one next to the couch and tucked Bastet into his arms, gently carrying her upstairs with him. Now that her stitches were out and her cone was off, she was more of her old self, but he was still wary of letting her walk around on her own with the cast on. He turned out his hall light before quietly going into his bedroom, where Dean was still a thickly-breathing lump under his duvet.

Castiel gently put Bastet down on the bed, watching as she immediately gravitated to Dean and tucked herself half-under the duvet, half-under his arm; Dean frowned and adjusted to let her in. “Dean?” he whispered. “Do you need anything else?”

“No,” Dean murmured in reply, one of his eyes cracking open. With his mussed hair and half-asleep expression, he was more adorable than usual. Castiel could’ve sworn that his heart dropped into his stomach. “‘m good. But thank you. Thank you so much.”

Castiel smiled a little. “Of course, Dean. Goodnight.” He reached for the bedside lamp and turned it off, throwing the room into complete darkness. He started to leave, but Dean seized Castiel’s arm, his hand hot with fever.

“Actually,” Dean croaked, his eyes open and shining in the darkness. “Stay?”

Castiel gulped, feeling that they were veering into dangerous territory. Snuggling territory. Emotional-attachment territory. This would break all of the rules he had set for himself. “I…”

“Please?” Dean whispered, sounding so morose that Castiel couldn’t say no.

“All right,” Castiel whispered back. “I’ll stay.” Gritting his teeth, he slid onto the bed, gently lifting the duvet and settling himself what he thought to be a reasonable distance from Dean. But a split second later, Dean the Octopus was wrapping himself around Castiel, tugging him around so that they were facing each other and burying his face in Castiel’s shoulder, Bastet curled in between them.

“Um,” Castiel managed when his wits had returned to him. Bastet turned and gave his bicep a quick touch of her cold, wet nose, which was a shock in the little cocoon of heat created by the duvet and Dean’s feverish proximity. “Okay.” _OH MY GOD_ , he screamed internally. _WE’RE CUDDLING FACE-TO-FACE AND HE IS VERY VERY_ VERY _CLOSE TO ME RIGHT NOW HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT —_

“Shhhh,” Dean shushed him, almost as if he could hear Castiel’s internal monologue. “Tryin’ t’sleep.”

“Sorry,” Castiel mumbled, trying to keep calm.

Dean wiggled a little against him. “Gahhhhhh. Relax, Cas.” His words were slurred, so every sound was running into the one after it. “You’re so nice but sometimes you aren’t a very good pillow.” He nuzzled into Castiel’s neck and Castiel almost had a heart attack. “But then sometimes you’re a great pillow. S’why I like you so much. So so much.” He let out a sigh. “I’m sorry I stole your Brandenburgs. But they make me think of you. That’s why it’s hard to give ‘em back.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Castiel reached over and carefully ran his hand along Dean’s arm. “I like you so, so much too,” he murmured, probably not loud enough for Dean to hear. The odds of Dean remembering any of this in the morning were slim to none, thanks to the sure-fire hangover he was going to have from the cold medicine, and from whatever strain of the plague he had managed to contract. What did Castiel really have to lose?

Dean let out a long sigh and his breathing evened out as he fell into a deep sleep. Castiel lay awake for several minutes, desperately trying to calm down while reveling in their closeness, in how warm it was under the duvet compared to the chill of the air around them. He loved the way Dean felt pressed against him, unable to ignore the way their bodies fit together so seamlessly in this weird little maze of slumber. He lost himself in the sensation of the way Dean’s shins and knees pressed into his, the way it felt to have Dean breathing so close and so sincerely against his shoulder, and soon, he found himself falling asleep.

Just as Castiel was about to drop off, he remembered the light on by the couch, the duvet he’d left to be unfolded and slept under. _Oh well_ , he thought, snuggling a little closer to Dean. _It’ll keep._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no idea how this is getting so many hits, but thank you so much for reading!!! <3 and don't forget to drop me a lil' review :3
> 
> p.s. i'm no master at hindi (thank god for translation websites!) but basically what was going on: cas said "good morning" and his students said "good morning, teacher" and that's just because they're learning about buddhism and cas is a geek ok? ok.
> 
> p.p.s. according to my beta, there needs to be a kiss soon. any other opinions about this? ;)


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did someone say something about.... kissing?

**The Great Cleveland White-Out: Day 1**

Castiel blinked awake on a lungful of freezing air, his bedroom thrown into a purple, ashy color from the light seeping in through his curtains. He mumbled a little, running a hand over his eyes and stubble before he snapped completely awake. _I didn’t have the dream_ , he realized with a shock. _I didn’t have the dream._ It would be the first time in years that he’d gone a night without it, the last time being the night he passed out after staying awake for over forty-eight hours. Castiel squeezed his eyes shut, wondering if he was still asleep and imagining the whole thing, but when he opened them again, everything was the same; the ceiling above him, the walls around him, the thick duvet sealing him in, the paws pressed into his leg, the arm wrapped around his—

Castiel chewed his lip and shifted slightly. Yup, that was definitely an arm. A very strong arm. A very warm arm. An arm that didn’t belong to him. He turned his head to the side and almost yelped because yup, yuppity yup, that was Dean. Dean, curled into Castiel’s side, drooling on Castiel’s shoulder, snoring a little, clinging to Castiel’s torso, pressing his very evident hard-on to Castiel’s hip.

They were _cuddling_.

“Fuck my life,” Castiel whispered, wondering how the hell he was going to get out of this and preserve any illusion of their ‘friendship.’ And without encouraging his own semi, which, yeah, was definitely and unhelpfully there. Then, he realized with a shock that the air around him, was… cold. Very cold. Abnormally cold. A lot colder than it was supposed to be. He sat up, plunging into the frigid air of his room and forgetting all bedroom etiquette, which he immediately regretted when Dean grumbled in his sleep, adjusting and tightening his grip on Castiel’s waist. Bastet chimed in with her own sleepy “mrrrawp” from the vicinity of Castiel’s shin. But Dean failed to wake up, and Castiel reached for a spare pillow that he slowly coaxed Dean into accepting as a substitute for Castiel’s body. Dean hugged the pillow, burrowing into the duvet as Castiel slid out of bed.

Castiel hissed as he was hit with the full force of the freezing air; it had to be at least forty degrees, if not colder. He quickly shoved his feet into his slippers and pulled on his bathrobe, tying it tightly around himself and pushing aside one corner of the curtain, gaping at what he saw.

“Fuck,” he swore, barely managing to keep his voice low. Somehow, for some what-the-hell-ever reason, Mother Nature had decided to succumb Cleveland to a surprise snowstorm. _Probably what the cold snap was about_ , Castiel realized bitterly. The snow outside was already two feet deep, and it was still piling on; he could barely see the outline of his backyard, let alone the house behind his. It had probably been snowing since the middle of the night. Castiel groaned, pressing his forehead against the freezing window, because now he and Dean were going to be stuck together for a couple of days at the _least_. He didn’t understand what line they were dancing on, if Dean might’ve liked him back (which he probably didn’t) or, if he _did_ like Castiel, whether or not he wanted to be with Castiel in a serious way.

 _I’m no booty call_ , Castiel thought grimly, letting the curtain swing back into place.

He went downstairs quietly, shivering and almost kicking the wall when he turned the thermostat and didn’t hear the little click that usually indicated that the heating was coming on. So they had lost the electricity, which he confirmed a moment later when he stepped into the living room and noticed that the light he’d left on the night before was off. “Well,” he said aloud. “This ought to be fun.”

Castiel retrieved another two acetaminophen from the bottle and refilled Dean’s glass, pleased to see water come splashing out of the bathroom tap; it looked like getting that extra insulation for his pipes had really paid off. He went back upstairs, hesitating as he stood over Dean’s slumbering form, loathe to wake him up but knowing that he had to. Castiel put the pills and glass down on the bedside table and reached for Dean, gently shaking his arm.

After a few moments, Dean blinked awake and yawned, gazing blearily up at Castiel. Half his hair was sticking up, making him look younger, making Castiel’s heart skip a beat. “Cas?” he croaked.

“Good morning.” Castiel held out the pills, which Dean accepted with some confusion, and the glass, which Dean stared at woefully. “Take these. I don’t think your fever’s broken yet. It’s a long story, but a snowstorm hit during the night, and we’re extremely snowed in. I have to go and make sure that all the other pipes are still working and build a fire. You stay in bed,” he said, shoving the glass closer to Dean when Dean tried to sit up. “You need to rest, and I don’t want you getting up until the house is warmer.”

“I… all righ’.” Dean took the glass of water and quickly swallowed the pills, chugging the rest of the water down in one go and grimacing as he finished. “Bleh. My throat feels like it hit the bad end of a dragon.” He handed the glass back to Castiel.

Castiel let out a surprised laugh, putting the glass down on the bedside table again. “That’s one way of putting it.”

Bastet surfaced, popping her head out from underneath the duvet and chirping at Castiel, who went around the bed to stroke her.

“She stayed,” Dean marveled, seemingly touched by the gesture. He propped himself up on one elbow and tugged the covers away from her, managing to reach her back and give her a gentle rub.

“Well of course,” Castiel replied, turning to his closet. “She loves to snuggle, and it was warmer under there than it was in the rest of the house.” He opened his closet and pulled out a thick flannel shirt before going over to his chest of drawers to retrieve a pair of corduroys, a wool sweater, and a huge pair of socks.

“Hey.” Dean grinned, one hand still on Bastet. “You own plaid.”

Castiel grinned back on his way to the bathroom. “Yes, Dean. I own plaid.”

* * *

 

Castiel nudged another log onto the fire and shifted the pan on the camp stove to make sure it was completely over the flame. The bacon and eggs popped merrily against the crackling of the fire and the low murmur of his small battery-operated radio, and Castiel surveyed his work with pride.

“Please say I can come downstairs because that smell is drivin’ me crazy,” came Dean’s (still very congested) voice from the top of the stairs.

Castiel chuckled. “Yes. You can come downstairs.”

Dean made a noise of approval and started shuffling down the stairs. He appeared a moment later positively buried in Castiel’s duvet with only his face showing through the folds.

“So,” Dean said when he had reached the living room. “Blizzard.”

“Blizzard,” Castiel confirmed. “Where’s Bastet?”

“Oh.” Dean performed an odd shuffling movement, and a moment later, a corner of the duvet fell away to reveal that he was holding Bastet snugly against his chest. “She’s fine.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Castiel stood up, reaching for her. “Here. I have to put her sweater on.”

Dean surrendered her with a frown. “Sweater?”

Castiel shrugged, tucking Bastet against his side and sitting down on the couch, reaching for the small knitted garment he’d left on the coffee table. “I keep it handy for the colder months. She is a short hair, after all.” He slid Bastet onto his lap before gently pulling the tiny sweater over her head, then carefully lifting each front paw and nudging them through the arm holes, Bastet licking his wrists through the entire process. Then, he unfurled the rest of the sweater down her body, where it almost reached her hind legs, gave her a quick kiss on the head, and put her back in her basket.

He looked up to find Dean staring at him with an amused smile. “What?”

“You’re kinda weird,” Dean replied, moving to sit down on the armchair, which he did with a huge ‘fluuumf.’ “But it’s okay. I still like you.”

“I should hope so,” Castiel replied drily. “I am the one giving you bacon.”

Dean inhaled deeply, or as deeply as he could with his stuffed nose. “I do love bacon.”

Castiel’s fireplace was easily the biggest thing in his living room, next to his television. The old-fashioned red-brick fireplace was along the far wall, which connected to the fireplace he had in his bedroom upstairs, and he kept the TV caddy-cornered next to it. His couch and armchairs were correspondingly diagonal, with his stereo in the corner across from the TV, with each gadget framing his front windows, which currently displayed the three-and-a-half-foot snow drifts piling up past his porch. But, now that they were using the fireplace, he’d readjusted the couch, coffee table, and arm chairs so that they were facing the fire. The small camping stove was placed on the fireplace’s brick ledge, which was knee-height and ran the length of the wall. Since his dining room was just an extension of his living room, he hadn’t had a way to trap the heat, but he had closed the doors to the kitchen and downstairs bathroom.

Castiel reached for one of two mugs sitting next to the fireplace. “Here’s your oatmeal. I managed to boil some water before I started the bacon.” He stuck a spoon into the oatmeal and handed the mug to Dean, grabbing a plate that he filled with bacon and eggs before giving it to Dean’s other hand.

Dean’s eyes were wide: he seemed a bit flummoxed by the amount of food he was holding. “I’ve… never had oatmeal before,” he eventually said, the dishes starting to quiver in his hands.

Castiel took the plate back from him with a smile and put it on the coffee table. “Then maybe that’s where you should start.”

Dean nodded in agreement, squishing the oatmeal experimentally with his spoon. Castiel reached for his own mug and dug into his oatmeal, watching Dean for a reaction. Dean raised the spoon to his face, giving the glob of oatmeal a once-over before taking a hesitant bite: his expression went flat as he chewed.

“Oh mah Gah.” He took a bigger bite. “The hell did you put in this?”

“Cinnamon and nutmeg,” Castiel replied. “Just because we’re snowed-in doesn’t mean we can’t eat like civilized people.”

“Ah’ll fay,” Dean grunted through a huge mouthful of oatmeal before swallowing. “All right. This snowstorm. When did it become a thing?”

“Apparently, it didn’t become a thing until last night. There were midnight runs on all the grocery stores because families didn’t find out until they got home from trick-or-treating. They’re calling it All-Snows’ Eve on the radio.” Castiel shrugged. “And somehow, we both managed to miss the warning.”

Dean scooped out the last of his oatmeal. “We certainly did.” He finished it off in one big bite, hardly a moment passing before he was sending Castiel’s mug covetous looks. Smiling, Castiel handed over his half-finished oatmeal without a word. Dean grinned at him before polishing off the oatmeal in three large bites.

“So,” Castiel said, making his own plate of bacon and eggs. “How’re you feeling?”

Dean considered, putting down both of his mugs and reaching for his plate. “Definitely better’n last night, thanks to you.”

Castiel scoffed and bit a piece of bacon in half. “All right. Let’s pretend that I full-on Florence-Nightingaled you instead of just handing you a couple of pills.”

“And,” Dean said pointedly, ignoring Castiel, “the oatmeal made my throat stop hurtin’.”

“That’s good.”

Dean chewed a piece of bacon thoughtfully before voicing his next question: “So how long will I have to, y’know, overstay my welcome?”

“One,” Castiel replied, “your welcome can never be overstayed. Two: tomorrow night, at the earliest. But probably more like Monday, Tuesday if it really sets in.”

Dean sighed a long, resigned sigh. “All right. You got enough supplies for the both of us?”

“Please, Dean.” Castiel waved a piece of bacon around like a wizard casting a spell. “I grew up in Maine and went to college in Vermont. My basement is a snow-hoarder’s paradise.”

* * *

 

“Got any threes?”

“Go fish.”

Dean clucked his tongue and reached for the pile of cards. “After this round, I’m callin’ quits. You’re too damn good at this game.”

Castiel grinned and rubbed the two remaining cards in his hand together. “Which is why I never play you at poker.”

“Damn straight.”

“Got any twos?”

Dean actually let out a growl before handing over his two. Castiel fought the urge to laugh.

“Got any eights?”

“Jesus Christ on a candlestick.” Dean made a face and flipped his eight at Castiel, who caught it with a triumphant smirk. “That’s it,” Dean declared, putting down his pile of cards. “You win. Me: one, Castiel: eight. You won eight damn games of Go Fish. Proud of yourself?”

“Quite,” Castiel replied, gathering up the cards and putting them back in their box. “What do you want to do now?”

Dean snuggled deeper into his corner of the sofa (he was still half-buried in the duvet) and started counting off his fingers. “We fed Bastet, washed all the dishes, made meal plans for the next five days, played nine rounds of Go Fish, and you made me drink your damn voodoo tea and put on your damn Oberlin hoodie.” He raised an eyebrow. “Haven’t we done it all?”

 _No_ , Castiel almost said, very loudly and pointedly. “Nope. And you know the tea made you feel better. And that the hoodie is ridiculously soft.”

Dean muttered something unintelligible. “I hate not havin’ movies,” he said aloud, pausing to pick at some invisible lint on his knee. “Got any… good books? That aren’t about religion,” he added a split second later.

“Yes, Dean,” Castiel chuckled. “As difficult as it is to believe, I own books that aren’t to do with religion. Besides, most of my religious books are in my office.” He stood up, stretching a little. “What are you in the mood to read?”

“I dunno. Just, y’know.” Dean waved his hand vaguely. “Whatever you think I would like.”

Castiel hummed, his mind already churning with possibilities. “Okay.” He went into his dining room, some of which was lined with bookshelves, and started perusing. Some ten minutes later, he resurfaced with a thick tome in one hand and a slim hardcover in the other. He held out the big book to Dean. “Here.”

Dean’s eyes widened. “That’s a whole lotta book.”

“You’ll like it. I promise.” Castiel wiggled the book in mid-air. “You know you want it.”

Dean snorted but took the book anyway. “I don’t know what you’re thinkin’. I ain’t some whiz-kid when it comes to readin’.”

Castiel sat down on the other end of the couch and calmly cleared his throat. “If you say something like that about yourself again, you can forget about ever having my apple pie.”

“I—” Dean blinked. “What?”

Castiel turned to look at him. “Dean, you’re as smart as anybody, if not smarter. Just because you struggled with high school algebra and SAT vocabulary doesn’t mean that you’re dumb or worthless. I’ve seen you renovate an engine in less than two hours and shake off a twelve-hour shift like it’s water, and you’re an excellent judge of character. You basically have the temperament of a highly intelligent Golden Retriever, and that’s something I envy. And if you try to refute any of this, you can say goodbye to my apple pie, which is the best in the damn state.” Castiel cracked open his own book ( _My Lunches With Orson_ , a Christmas present from Anna) and turned his attention to the Introduction. “So read your damn book.”

Dean gaped at Castiel for several moments before turning to his book. " _The Brothers K_ ,” he read aloud, somewhat unsure. “Isn’t this the book by that Russian guy—?”

“No, that’s _The Brothers Karamazov_ ,” Castiel replied. “This one’s different, but David Duncan definitely plays off themes that Dostoevsky used.”

Dean ran his fingers over the cover of the book, tracing the outline of the huge ‘K’ and the little farmhouse depicted in the bottom corner. Then, he opened the book to chapter one and started reading.

* * *

 

They read for hours, breaking only to use the bathroom, stoke the fire, give Bastet some attention, eat a handful of nuts or dried fruit, and, in Dean’s case, pop a couple of acetaminophen. The snow eased off slightly in the afternoon, even though it was up to four feet.

“Okay.” Castiel snapped his book shut as the daylight started to fade in earnest. “We should get going on dinner.”

Dean hummed in reply, still fixated on his book. For all his insistence about being a slow reader, he was closing in on page two hundred, which was no mean feat when it came to _The Brothers K_. “Tomato soup with rice?”

Castiel smiled and stood up, pulling on his thick overcoat in preparation for going down to the basement. “Just like I promised.”

They ate by the fireplace, Dean very pleased with his soup and Castiel studiously ignoring the way the firelight played across Dean’s cheekbones (it highlighted his freckles). Dean laughed when Castiel made stupid jokes and he teased Bastet about the way she snuffled into her Fancy Feast and it was all so domestic and perfect that Castiel almost felt himself choking on it all. He grimly reminded himself that they were going to be stuck in here for at least another two days, so he really had to keep himself in check and not do something stupid like confess his not-so-platonic feelings for Dean or pin Dean to the couch and perform a very thorough exploration of the inside of Dean’s mouth. _No_ , Castiel thought, resignedly swallowing the last mouthful of his soup, _we wouldn’t want that_.

As the evening dragged on towards midnight, it was soon time for both of them to go to bed. Castiel insisted on both of them camping out in the living room, since he didn’t want to have to maintain a fire in his bedroom as well and, in doing so, use up his firewood twice as fast. “We’ll be just as comfortable down here,” he insisted as he spread another blanket over Dean, whom he had bundled into the couch as if his life depended on it.

“Dude.” Dean fixed him with a pointed look, which was rather negated by the hand he had curled into Bastet’s belly fur. “You turned me into a freakin’ marshmallow.”

“You’re ill,” Castiel reminded him. “And I have to bank the fire, so it won’t stay as warm. I don’t want you relapsing, or getting worse. That, my friend, is why you are a marshmallow.”

“A _sexy_ marshmallow,” Dean insisted in the tone of a petulant child.

“The sexiest,” Castiel deadpanned, trying not to let the veracity of those words bleed into his voice. He cleared his throat quickly and set about banking the fire, keeping it down to a collection of live embers and coals that he could quickly bring back to life the following morning.

Castiel set up a sort of sleeping space on the floor by the couch, determinedly refuting all of Dean’s protests that they could share the couch. _Honestly_ , Castiel thought to himself with a slight grumble, _maybe I’m really bad at reading innuendo, but we’re veering into dangerous territory here_. He settled down with a pile of grading, his light coming from one of two battery-powered lamps (one was perched by Castiel, and the other on the floor by Dean’s end).

They sat in comfortable silence, listening to the storm wind down around them and the dim crackle of the live coals. Dean had his nose stuck in _The Brothers K_ , absorbed in the tales and drama of a Northwestern baseball family, and one hand firmly attached to Bastet, who was lying blissed-out by his side. Castiel made it through two and a half short essays before Dean said:

“I don’t like Everett.”

Castiel smiled, underlining a phrase that he particularly enjoyed. “Didn’t think you would.” He turned to look up at Dean. “But do you have a favorite yet?”

Dean thought for a moment before raising his gaze above the edge of the book. “Irwin. Or maybe Papa Chance. He reminds me of my dad a little,” he added before Castiel could ask why. “And Winnie’s just…” Dean shook his head. “He’s kinda… wonderful.”

“I know exactly what you mean.” Castiel gave Dean another smile before returning to the essay he was reading. His students had definitely improved in their research and analytical skills since the beginning of the year, and their essays were becoming more and more enjoyable to read.

Time wore on, the air around them grew colder, and soon enough, Dean was shifting around and tucking himself into his little nest of blankets, his breathing slurred with sleepiness. “Cas,” he drawled.

Castiel tried his best to ignore the way that sounded. “Hmm?”

“Are you gonna sleep or what?”

“No, I’ve got some work to do,” Castiel replied, trying to sidestep the question. For whatever reason, he hadn’t had the dream last night, and he didn’t want to risk the possibility of it returning full-throttle and worse than it usually was. “I should really finish it while I can.”

Dean exhaled in a drawn-out puff. “Crazy.” He shifted around again. “You should be sleepin’.”

“Yes,” Castiel acknowledged. “And so should you. Go to sleep.”

“S’what I’m good at,” Dean mumbled, followed by a long period of silence. Castiel guessed that Dean had fallen asleep, and tried his best to return his attention to Buddhist symbolism and its appearances in Eastern media. He felt the words dragging at his eyelids, the margins blurring his gaze, but he pressed forward, knowing that he couldn’t let himself fall asleep.

* * *

 

“Cas, you gotta WAKE UP!”

Castiel snapped awake, his body livid with tension and his teeth chattering. He lurched off the floor, a paper falling away from where it had stuck to his face. The room was dark and cut by jagged beams of light: both lanterns were lying on their sides. Dean was clinging to Castiel’s shoulders from behind. “What—what—?”

“You fell asleep.”

Castiel whirled round, facing Dean, who looked more than a little shaken. Bastet was curled into the opposite corner of the couch, spooked. “How long was I—?”

Dean gulped, but his voice was steady. “Took me longer to wake you this time. You were, uh… screamin’ for somebody.”

Castiel took a quick lungful of air, his breathing coming in unsteady pants. “For whom?”

Dean considered Castiel for a moment before replying: “Your mom.”

“Oh.” Castiel was almost relieved. “Do you know what time it is?”

“No, but I’ve been asleep for at least a couple of hours, so maybe three? Four? It’s still dark outside.” Dean leaned forward, his hand firm against Castiel’s back. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, yes,” Castiel assured him, though he was still shaking and a cold sweat had erupted on the back of his neck. “I’m fine. Go back to sleep.”

“Like Hell.” Dean’s hand pressed slightly against Castiel’s back, becoming a more insistent presence. “Now that you’ve had the dream once, maybe you won’t have to go through it again. You need to sleep, and you’re obviously not okay.”

Castiel scoffed and unsuccessfully tried to shift away from Dean’s hand. “Don’t be ridiculous—”

“I’m not bein’ ridiculous.” Dean pulled his feet closer to himself. “Now get on the damn couch.”

“Dean, no—”

“Cas, _yes_. I’m sick. You have to do what I say.”

“What kind of logic is that?”

“The best kind. I may be sick, but that doesn’t mean I couldn’t take you in a fight. So are you gonna come up here, or am I gonna have to make you?”

Castiel stared at Dean, whose jaw was set and determined. It was… adorable. And hard to argue with. “Fine.” He pushed his ungraded papers to one side, turned off the lanterns, and clambered up onto the couch, pulling another blanket along with him. Castiel sat down and gently nudged Bastet so that she was resting on his stomach, quickly making himself comfortable on the end opposite Dean. “Happy?”

Dean smiled a little. “Ecstatic.”

Castiel huffed and vented his feelings by pinching a pillow. He didn’t want to have the dream again, much less in front of Dean.

“Were you close to her?” Dean’s voice was low, careful.

“To whom?” Castiel hedged.

“Your mom,” Dean clarified, still hesitant. “Since you were… askin’ for her and all.”

Castiel began to shake his head, then reconsidered. “We weren’t… close, but I had a better relationship with her than I did with my father.” He chewed his lip before continuing. “She would, y’know, make me feel better or try to comfort me when my dad was being awful. And when he left, she…” He sighed a little. “Remember how I told you that she passed away while I was in college?”

“...Yes?” Dean replied, cautious.

“I didn’t lie, but she, um… committed suicide.”

Dean’s frame visibly stiffened. “Cas—”

“It’s fine,” Castiel cut him off. “Really. I wasn’t even… I just…” He pushed his hair away from his face and propped his elbow on the couch cushions. “I think about her a lot, how I never really knew her that well, the way my dad treated her, the way Michael...” He sighed a little. “That’s probably why I, you know—”

“Had her in your thoughts,” Dean finished for him. “Dammit, Cas. Why haven’t you ever told me about her? It’s good for you to talk about stuff like this.”

Castiel burrowed down into the blankets. “Goodnight, Dean.”

“But Cas—”

“ _Goodnight_.”

Dean took the hint and quieted down; Castiel closed his eyes and wondered what good could come of this. A moment later, he felt Dean’s warm foot press against his, and bit his tongue to ignore how much he wanted it.

* * *

 

**The Great Cleveland White-Out: Day 2**

The next morning passed in much the same way it had the day before, but this time, Castiel made breakfast as Dean smiled at him from the couch, Castiel desperately wondering how he was going to make it through the end of the snowstorm without doing something stupid. He tried to keep his distance from Dean as the day continued, grading papers at the dining table instead of the couch and spending too much time puttering around in his basement organizing supplies that didn’t need to be reorganized.

Everything was going well until Dean found Castiel’s photo albums.

“NO WAY.” Dean let out a burst of laughter. “Why are you in a dress?!”

Castiel stiffened in his seat, the essay in front of him completely forgotten. “What—?”

“You’re—in—a—dress!” Dean was choking on his own laughter. “With a hat!”

Castiel felt his jaw drop and the next moment he was pouncing on the sofa and trying to rip the photo album out of Dean’s hands. “DEAN NO—”

But Dean kept a firm grip on it. “Oh, yes!” He flipped to a new page and broke into another burst of laughter. “Is—are you serving tea?! In a little tux?!”

“That was one of my mother’s tea parties and she used to make me dress up and—” Castiel made another fruitless grab for the album, his legs pressing into Dean’s side. “Dean, give it back!”

“Nope,” Dean cackled, leaning further away from Castiel’s reach. Castiel was practically on top of Dean by this point, scrabbling to get ahold of the album. “This is too good!”

“No—” Castiel groaned, forcing himself to scoot away from Dean before things got too close and… risky.

Dean flipped to the next page. “Oh, my God! Who’s that?” he demanded, pointing to a photo of a seven year-old Gabe sticking his finger into Castiel’s four year-old ear.

Castiel sighed and sat back, resigned to his fate. “That’s Gabe, my brother. He’s two years older than I am.” He pointed to the photo below it. “That’s me and Anna. She’s Gabe’s twin, but they couldn’t be more different from each other.”

“Huh.” Dean looked closely at the photographs, running a fingertip along the outlines of Castiel’s past, his touch light but curious. He turned to Castiel with a huge grin. “But you still haven’t told me why you were wearing a dress.”

Castiel rolled his eyes. “I lost a bet with Gabe. It was either put on one of Anna’s church dresses or eat a handful of dirt.”

“I would’ve chosen the dirt.”

“Believe me, I know.”

Dean chuckled, flipping to the next page, which showed more photos of Castiel wearing his little suit and serving bite-size cakes and pastries and sandwiches to his mother’s Bible-and-cream-tea group. “You look so… professional.”

Castiel propped his elbow up on the back of the couch and leaned into his hand: if Dean was going to insist on doing this, he might as well get comfortable. “I had to be professional to please that crowd.” He shook his head. “Mrs. Mason only liked cucumber sandwiches, and Mrs. Geldon wouldn’t eat the cakes with icing, and Mrs. Thornberry would only have the deviled eggs with black pepper on top, and so on...”

Dean turned to look at Castiel, his grin small and endearing. “You _would_ remember all that.”

Castiel smirked at him. “What can I say? I’m kind of a perfectionist.”

Dean let out a small chuckle, his gaze falling to Castiel’s mouth. Dean inhaled quickly, his grin disappearing, and suddenly Castiel was aware of their proximity. His face flooded with warmth, his stomach erupted into butterflies, and he couldn’t stop looking at Dean’s bottom lip, even though he knew it was wrong, it was very very wrong of him to be indulging like this. But when he looked up, he found Dean staring at him, closer than he was before, his eyes so green and wide and his tongue darting out to moisten the edge of his lip, and before Castiel knew it, Dean was leaning forward, his mouth open and exhaling warmth and Castiel barely had a moment to react before —

 _BOOM_.

They jumped apart, eyes wide, speechless for a small eternity before Dean demanded, “The hell was that?!”

Castiel swallowed, his mouth suddenly very dry. “I don’t— I don’t know!”

The huge knock sounded again from the front door, followed by, “DAMMIT, CASTIEL, OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR!”

Castiel practically leapt off the couch, unable to believe it, because he knew that voice— he was at the front door in a second, fumbling with the locks. “Gabe, is that you?!”

“Of course it’s fucking _me_ , you fucking idiot!” came Gabriel’s instant reply. “Open the door!”

Castiel finally managed to open the front door, and was assaulted by a very cold and damp version of his older brother. “Gabriel, what—?!”

Gabe grabbed Castiel’s face and planted a huge kiss on his mouth with a loud _SMACK_. “Thank God you’re here!” He pulled Castiel into a bone-crushing hug. “I hate the snow!”

“Yes,” Castiel wheezed, trying to shuck his brother. “Yes, I know, but what are you doing here?!”

Gabe finally released him and stood grinning at Castiel, his face red with exertion and his floppy brown hair tucked into an absurd fur-lined aviator hat, the snow swirling in through the open door behind him. “Surprise!”

“Surprise?” Castiel repeated dumbly.

“Yeah! I flew in for a surprise visit, then this bitch of a blizzard decided to hit town—”

“Did you _walk_ here?!”

“Yeah, from the hotel!”

Castiel stared at his brother. “Are you insane?”

“Nope, ‘cause most of the pipes burst and they barely had enough canned Campbell’s to feed everyone.” Gabe turned around and reached onto the porch, tugging in a large snow-covered suitcase with considerable difficulty. He swung it onto the floor, panting and grinning for all he was worth. “Surprise!”

“I’ll say,” Castiel mumbled, still not quite sure how to process this.

But Gabe’s attention was elsewhere, and he stepped into the living room, appraising everything with a short whistle. “Classy digs, Cassie. And you kept it nice and toasty.” He turned, noticed Dean on the couch, and stopped short before grinning. “So I see I’m not the only snow-bound loser here.”

Castiel hurriedly closed the door, slipping on the snow that had melted into his floorboards before stepping into the living room. “Gabe, this is my neighbor and good friend Dean.” He avoided Dean’s gaze as he continued: “Dean, this is my brother Gabriel. He owns a bakery out in California and makes lots of different kinds of pastry and he kind of has this girlfriend named Kali but they’ve never really—”

“Whoa, Cas,” Gabe cut him off with a small grin. “I don’t think he needs the full biography.”

Castiel shut his mouth with a quick _click_ , his face burning. Rambling was one of his unfortunate nervous reactions.

Dean stood up in one fluid motion, offering his hand to Gabe. “Nice to meet you.”

Gabe took his hand and shook it, giving Dean a sly appraisal. “You, too.” He let go of Dean’s hand and shot Castiel a quick look before saying: “So how’d you manage to get stuck here? The storm hit during the night, didn’t it?”

Castiel balked at the implication in Gabriel’s voice and noticed a blush flood Dean’s neck, but Dean managed to reply before he did: “We had a candy competition on Friday night, what with Halloween and all—”

“Of course, of course,” Gabriel assured him, one eye still locked on Castiel.

“—and we were here, tallyin’ up, but I, uh, wasn’t feelin’ too great. I had this cold or flu bug and Cas noticed and he made me take some pills and sleep it off before I went home.” Dean lifted one shoulder in an easy shrug, somehow very calm. “When we woke up, we were buried in snow.”

Castiel felt his stomach curdle at the phrase ‘when we woke up’ because he _knew_ Gabe would take that and twist it into something Castiel couldn’t bring himself to think about. “Hungry?” he asked Gabe, a little louder than usual.

“You bet.” Gabe reached for Bastet, who had perked up from Castiel’s corner of the couch, and started rubbing her head with two fingers. “I haven’t eaten since last night. I could eat a damn horse, along with its hay.”

“ _Great!_ ” Castiel winced at his volume and grabbed his coat from where it was slung on the back of the armchair. “I’ll just run down to the basement for some more food.” Still avoiding Dean’s gaze, he quickly turned into the hallway, pulled on his coat, and opened the basement door.

“What?!” Gabe squawked from the other room. “Why is your cat in a cast?! Jesus, Cassie, this is why you need to pick up your phone more often—”

Castiel gritted his teeth and flipped on the basement light, shivering at the sudden change in temperature. _This is going to be one long snowstorm_ , he grumbled internally, briefly pausing to wonder what would’ve happened if Gabriel hadn’t chosen that exact moment to knock on his front door.

* * *

 

**The Great Cleveland White-Out: Day 3**

Gabe owed Dean a two-years’ supply of free croissants by lunchtime and Castiel rubbed his eyes, wondering why he ever let Dean talk his brother into playing poker.

* * *

 

**The Great Cleveland White-Out: Day 4**

Castiel woke up on Tuesday feeling distinctly… off. Then, he sat up with a gasp, because once again, no dream. Not even a hint of it. He covered his mouth with his hand, belatedly realizing that he _really_ needed a shave, wondering how the hell he’d managed to skip the dream a second time. A moment later, he realized that a very warm calf was pressed against his, with another set of toes curled against his knee. Castiel set his jaw, cursed the fact that Dean somehow still looked perfect even when he was drooling all over Castiel’s spare pillow, and quickly disentangled himself from his best friend.

They got the all-clear over the radio around lunchtime. It hadn’t snowed since the night before, and now people were starting to shovel their driveways and wait for the city’s snow plows to clear the roads. The autumn weather was back in full force, so the snow was starting to melt, meaning that any evidence of the snowstorm would soon be gone. Not long after they heard the announcement, Dean’s expression changed into something unreadable, and he stood up, saying that he should really head home.

Castiel stood up as well, unsure of what to do with his hands and nervously seeking out Dean’s gaze. “Are— are you sure?”

Dean looked at him for a moment, something in his face guarded and vulnerable all at once. “Yeah. I’ve been imposin’ on you long enough.”

“Dean, you haven’t been imposing—”

“No, really,” Dean insisted. “I should get back. See if my pipes are okay, see if I got power, all that… stuff.” He inhaled quickly and dropped his gaze. “I’ll, uh, just grab my things and—”

“Do you have supplies?” Castiel asked, his heart pounding. He had no idea what kind of footing they were on now, if they would’ve kissed or just written it off as a huge mistake—

“Yeah,” Dean replied. “I’ve got some canned stuff, blankets and firewood and all that.” He flashed Castiel some sort of half-smile. “I’m not as prepared as you, but I ain’t exactly useless.”

“I—I never meant—”

“Christ’s sake, Cas.” Gabe surfaced from giving Bastet a paw massage, exasperated. “Just make him a box of stuff, if it’ll make you feel better.”

“Yes,” Castiel said immediately. “I’ll do that. I’ll make a box.”

Dean’s smile twitched and grew into something genuine. “You do that. I’ll just…” He gestured to the hallway, his gaze lingering on Castiel, before he looked away and headed upstairs.

“All right.” Gabe let go of Bastet with a sigh. “Guess that means I’m the one shoveling the front walk.”

Castiel quickly went down to the cellar and threw together a box of canned and dry goods, an extra camping stove, and half a day’s supply of firewood. His mind whirling, he ignored the look Gabe was giving him as Dean pulled on Castiel’s old coat and snapped on Castiel’s extra pair of snowshoes.

Castiel had been stuck in the snow at least twice a year for his entire life, but he had never tired of the different ways it aged. As he stepped out onto his front porch, perched on the edge of Gabe’s crudely-dug path, he couldn’t help but grin at the way the world sparkled around him.

Dean paused when Castiel didn’t follow him, turning when he reached the front gate. “Are you… smilin’?”

Castiel reminded himself to breathe and he quickly stepped off the porch. “Maybe.”

“Why?”

“It’s just…” Castiel took a breath and cast his gaze over the silent, frosted neighborhood that was shining brightly in the sudden fall sunshine. “It’s my favorite kind of snow. And it’s all melting, so it’ll be gone soon, but it’s just…” He sighed happily, momentarily forgetting the tension between himself and Dean. “It’s just beautiful.”

Dean stood still for a few moments, his gaze locked on Castiel. “What kind of snow is your favorite snow?” he finally asked.

Castiel laughed self-deprecatingly. “Um… When it gets packed. Kind of. Or, right before it really gets packed, when the top’s frozen over and it’s all crunchy, but if you crack the surface, it’s all soft and powdery underneath.” He shrugged, starting to blush. “The Inuit have dozens of different words for different kinds of snow. I’m much the same way, but only one type of snow is my favorite.”

Dean was still looking at him, his expression as unreadable as it had been before. Then, he took a slow step towards Castiel, then another, and another, until he was standing right in front of Castiel, unbelievably flattering in the reflected light and standing like he was on the verge of doing something or saying something. Dean’s jaw twitched briefly, then he said, “Here, let me help with that.”

Castiel blinked. “Okay.”

Dean grabbed the box, hoisting it into his own arms. With a hurried sort of smile, he turned and started heading down the path again. Castiel followed tentatively, wondering what just happened and why it had felt so… raw. His quickly shook his head, trying to rid himself of the feeling, and followed Dean across the snow-covered road and up onto Dean’s yellow porch.

As Dean balanced the box against his front door and fumbled for his keys, Castiel somehow found the courage to ask: “What about you?”

Dean glanced at him briefly. “Huh?”

“What’s your favorite kind of snow?”

Dean’s face broke into a sudden smile, and he pushed the correct key into his lock. “The snowball kind.”

Castiel starting to smile back. “That’s a very good kind.” Dean pushed open his front door, put the box down on his entry mat, and took off his snowshoes, and, feeling the impending goodbye, Castiel added, “I’ve never had a snowball fight.”

Dean stopped and turned on his heel, staring at Castiel. “What.”

Castiel nodded. “I was never allowed, and Gabe got in trouble for playing in the snow, so I never tried. And I just sort of forgot about it during college.”

Dean was quiet for a moment before he said: “All right. You. Me. Next snowfall. We’re havin’ a snowball fight.”

“Okay.” Castiel let out a little laugh of relief. “You’re on.”

There was a bit of an awkward pause, the unsaid hanging between them like falling snowflakes, and Castiel wondered if they would ever address what had happened or what had almost-maybe-kind-of happened.

Dean blinked, chewing on his bottom lip once. “Hey, Cas?”

“Yes, Dean?”

“Thank you. For everythin’. Really. Thank you. You… were really nice to me, and you didn’t have to take care of me the way you did, but you still did it anyway, and you’re still takin’ care of me—” he gestured to the box “—anyway, I’m really lucky to, y’know…” He trailed off, his gaze darting to Castiel’s.

“Yeah,” Castiel agreed without knowing what he was agreeing to. “Don’t worry about. I’m just glad that you’re better.”

“I’ll make it up to you,” Dean replied, almost as if he’d ignored Castiel. “I promise.”

“Okay.” Castiel half-smiled. “I guess I’ll just, um…” He turned to leave, mentally screaming at himself for behaving like such an idiot, before he remembered: “Wait!” He turned back to Dean, pulling out the book he’d stuck in the massive inner pocket of his jacket. “I forgot to give you this.”

Dean huffed around a smirk and took the book from him. “ _The Brothers K_.”

“You should finish it.” Castiel tried to take a steadying breath. “You’re so close to the end, and I think that you’ll really really really like the end.”

Dean let out a little chuckle. “Thanks.” He stepped back into his house, widening the gap between them. “I’ll finish it soon, let you know what I think.”

Castiel stepped back as well, closer to the snow. “And let me know if everything’s okay over here, no burst pipes or anything.”

“You got it.” Dean smiled at him, one hand on his front door.

Castiel stopped, taking everything in one last time, not knowing if something would change, if maybe they wouldn’t talk for a while because they couldn’t talk about the almost-happened. “Goodbye, Dean.”

Dean’s dimple appeared. “See you later, Cas.” And he closed the front door, the locks turning a moment later.

Castiel took his dismissal and trudged back across the road, soaking in the blank slate of the snow and a small part of him wishing that the snowstorm had never ended. He reached his porch, toed off his snowshoes, and opened the front door, jumping when he saw Gabriel leaning against the doorway to the living and dining rooms, Bastet in his arms.

 **  
** Gabriel was smirking, one eyebrow lifted as he ran a hand down Bastet’s back. “So, Cassie. We have a lot of catching up to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes yes i'm a little shit i know i know *dances away*
> 
> 1: "the brothers k" is a fantastic book in my opinion, strongly recommend. and "winnie" is irwin's nickname, if that wasn't clear.  
> 2: who *wouldn't* want to be stuck in a snowstorm with dean OR cas?!?  
> 3: give all llamas and hugs to hubrisandwax cuz she's just a beta goddess ok? ok.  
> 4: if you get the "thornberry" reference you're my new favorite
> 
> i love you and your comments so much :3 and thank you so much for reading!!! the next chapter is finished so i should be posting it by friday ;)
> 
> and i don't think i ever mentioned this, but feel free to reach out to me (or, y'know, yell at me) on tumblr - if i have enough of you guys following me, i'll post when i put in a chapter update :) arspondency.tumblr.com!


	14. Interlude - Later That Same Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoops my fingers slipped here have a nice interlude

Dean gritted his teeth; he could practically hear Sam’s smirk over the phone. “Shuddup, Sammy.”

“No, I’m sorry, you’re right. This thing you have going with Castiel is one-hundred percent platonic. No sexual tension whatsoever.” Dean heard Sam’s barely restrained, derisive chuckle.

Dean groaned, pushing a hand through his already-disheveled hair. “You’re not helpin’ here.”

“I know, I know,” Sam replied, seeming to sober up a little. “So. You doin’ okay?” His Midwestern twang always resurfaced when he was talking to Dean.

“What d’you think?” Dean shot back, throwing another log onto the fire for good measure. This was what he got for calling his brother to confirm that he hadn’t died in the snow. “I was stuck in a house with him for four days, Sammy, _four days_ , and he was all tousled and unshaven and so goddamn—I have no idea how I didn’t jump his bones every—”

“Okaythankyou,” Sam garbled. “I don’t need a visual _quite_ that strong.”

Dean collapsed onto his secondhand sofa, pressing a hand to his eyes. “What’m I gonna do, Sammy?” he groused, as if they hadn’t had this conversation at least ten times before.

“Well…” Sam took a breath, and Dean knew he was going to say— “Why don’t you try talkin’ to him?”

Dean barely restrained a leer. “Thanks, Samantha—”

“I’m serious, Dean. From what you’ve been tellin’ me, I think he might be interested, but he might not be sure if he can make a move.” The sound of a toaster popping came over the line, followed by the chink of cutlery on a plate. “I mean, does he even know that you, y’know, aren’t… straight?”

Dean sat back into the squeaky cushions, silent. “I… dunno,” he eventually said.

Sam scoffed. “Well, Dean, don’t you think you should tell him?” 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've never had to do this before, but content warning for mentions of physical and verbal abuse, instances of panic attacks, and severe anxiety attacks. and just some really nasty language.
> 
> that sounds so depressing, but poor cas is about to go through a lot :( and please let me know if i have to warn for anything else!

Gabriel’s visit punched a massive but enjoyable hole in Castiel’s life. Soon, the hours he didn’t spend at school were filled with trips to Cleveland’s best restaurants and farmer’s markets, where Gabe nearly cried with happiness every time he saw something like fresh organic kale or a green and yellow heirloom tomato. Castiel would never fully understand his brother, but dutifully took mental notes for all of Gabe’s cooking advice. After all, he wouldn’t be nearly as good at cooking without his big brother walking him through the complex simplicities of his favorite recipes. As each day passed, Castiel remembered how fond he really was of his brother, and how much he’d missed having Gabe (and Anna) around.

A habit that Gabe was forming was to rib Castiel on a twice-daily basis about Castiel’s civic duty to “climb Dean like a tree,” despite all of Castiel’s unamused, glowering silences and insistence that he was 99% sure that Dean was straight.

“Say what you like,” Gabe had said after one such protest, his eye scanning the list of ingredients on a bag of locally-made wheat flour, “but you didn’t see the way he was looking at you.”

Castiel would persistently ignore this, much to Gabe’s eternal chagrin.

He hadn’t really spoken to Dean since the snow-in, other than to reply to Dean’s quick text of: “home safe & sound. no pipes burst, lots of firewood, dont worry bout me.” But then the snow finished melting, the botched school week ended, and the weekend rolled around. It was nearing noon on the Sunday before Gabe’s departure the next day when Gabe decided to have an aneurysm about the NFL.

“But Cas, you don’t understand,” he pleaded, practically tugging his much-loved hair out of his skull. “It’s the Patriots versus the Cowboys. The _Patriots_ , Cassie. We have to watch the game. _Pleeeeease_. We have to watch it. Or I may die.”

Castiel took a step back, alarmed. “Okay, we can watch the game. Sorry.”

Gabe let out a whoop, punching the air. “YES!” He spun on his heel. “And we can totally go to that drive-in tonight, just like you wanted to.”

Castiel almost smiled. “All right.” He watched his brother flop down on the couch, pull Bastet into his lap, and switch on the TV, even though the game didn’t start for another hour. Somewhat befuddled, Castiel pulled out his phone and started a new text.

< Dean: What do you know about Sunday football?

> Dean: R U WATCHIN G THE GAME

> Dean: ???????????

< Dean: Well Gabe is

Then, with some amusement:

< Dean: Do you want to come over?

No response. Castiel checked his phone again a minute later, but he hadn’t missed a text. He started to frown, wondering what kind of signal this was, when a sudden, sharp knock sounded at his front door. Grinning, he opened it to reveal a boyishly excited Dean, who shot him a quick, “Hey Cas, how ya doin’?” before handing him a large bag of chips (which, Castiel guessed, was their lunch), tossing off his coat, and heading for the couch. Gabe greeted him with a cheer and a hand-slap thing before they settled into Sports Center, starting a discussion of the two teams and automatically spreading Bastet between both of them so they could each get a good handful of tummy fur.

“I hope you took a Zyrtec,” Castiel said pointedly to Dean, who grinned and nodded.

“I came prepared,” he assured Castiel with a wink. Castiel hastily excused himself and went to the kitchen, pouring a bowl of the chips and mentally discouraging a certain part of his anatomy, because _damn_ if that hadn’t sounded like something completely different.

 _Well_ , Castiel thought reluctantly. _Maybe he’s 97% percent straight. At the least._

By the time the game started, Gabe and Dean were stupidly excited, even though they were technically rivals (Gabe supported the Patriots, Dean the Cowboys). When the Patriots got the first down, Gabe was whooping and Dean was half-heartedly trash-talking him and the team, both of them grinning like idiots. Castiel smiled at them from where he sat in the armchair, reading a new book that had to do with a section of his current paper and feeling like a proud parent.

They were about a half-hour into the game and Dean had Gabriel in a joking headlock, cheering as the Cowboys scored their second touchdown (“HELL YEAH, YOU SONS OF BITCHES!”), when there was a pointed knock at Castiel’s front door. Whoever it was was using the cast-iron knocker instead of just rapping on the wood.

Castiel blinked, turning around to stare at his front entryway, Dean and Gabe mimicking him with Gabe still in the headlock, both of them rendered silent. “You expecting someone?” Gabe asked him.

“No.” Castiel stood up, putting down his book and going over to the front door. Somewhat perplexed, he unlocked the door and pulled it open. When he saw who was standing on his porch, his stomach turned to ice and dropped to his ankles, his grip on the door’s handle starting to tremble.

“Castiel.” Michael gave him a grim little smirk, as poised and polished as ever, his suit tailored within an inch of its life. “How… lovely to see you.”

“Michael,” Castiel choked out, hastily taking a small step backwards. He heard a distinct thump from the couch area and tried to swallow, feeling like most of his body had gone offline. “What—?”

Gabe strode into the picture, his frame rippling with fury as he stepped between Castiel and their eldest brother. “What the hell are you doing here, Michael?” he demanded, his voice barely below a shout.

Michael turned his gaze on Gabe like he was something unpleasant on the sidewalk. “Just visiting my baby brother,” he returned smoothly, a mocking edge obvious under his words. “I see you had the same idea.”

“Bullshit.” Gabe crowded into Michael’s space, forcing the taller man to take a grudging step back. “You know the rules. Call before you come into town, only speak to Cas in front of another family member—”

Michael’s expression verged on a sneer. “I know.” His gaze returned to Castiel. “I was just passing through on a business trip for the company; I’m not exactly here for pleasure.” The sneer broke out in full force as he held up a blank manila file folder. “I have to speak with Castiel about his stocks in the family company. We’re rewriting policy and—”

“I get it,” Gabe snapped. “And when were you going to pay me a little visit? Or Anna? We have company stock too, as you know.”

Michael gave him this look that had Castiel gulping and taking another step back. “Los Angeles was my next port of call and I was going to speak with Anna on my way home, not that it matters.” He returned his attention to Castiel. “So. Can we talk?”

Castiel forced himself to take a breath. “Yes.” He stepped back, holding the door open. “Please… come in.”

“Cas!” Gabe turned to him and gripped his arm. “Are you sure you want to do this?!”

Castiel nodded, keeping the door open. “Come in, Michael.”

Michael smiled thinly and stepped past Gabriel. “Thank you, Castiel.” He brushed some invisible dust off his sleeve and went into the living room, taking in his surroundings. “Interesting décor. It’s so… homey.” His gaze landed on the couch area, and Dean hastily stood up, muting the TV. “I see I interrupted quite the party.” Michael looked incredibly pleased with himself. “Who’s this?”

Gabe shot Castiel a mixed look of consternation and genuine worry before returning his attention to Michael. “Michael, this is Castiel’s friend, Dean.”

Michael’s lip curled again. “ _Friend?_ ” The implication was hard to miss.

“Dean,” Gabriel continued loudly, as if Michael had never said anything, “this is our brother and resident dickbag, Michael. Great. We all know each other. Now, can we please get this joyful little reunion over with?”

“Certainly, Gabriel. There’s no need to be so unpleasant.” Michael’s smirk reappeared, and he turned to Castiel, who was still frozen on the spot, holding the front door open. “Come along, Castiel. Is there a more… private place we can speak?”

Castiel hastily shut the door and stepped into the living room, gripping the edge of the doorway until his knuckles were white. “I… suppose there’s the kitchen. Or my office.”

“Your office will suffice.” Michael glanced in the direction of the stairs.

“Upstairs,” Castiel supplied. “The first room.”

Michael nodded once. “Dean, it was a pleasure,” he said, his voice dripping with disapproval and sarcasm, before he turned and went up the stairs, his pace measured and somehow intimidating.

When Michael was out of sight, Gabe whirled on Castiel, dragging him out of the doorway. “What are you thinking?!” he demanded in an exasperated whisper. “You know you can’t talk to him!”

“Gabe, it’s fine.” Castiel wished his voice would stop shaking. “It’s only for a few minutes. I probably just have to sign some papers.” He didn’t even sound convincing to himself.

Gabe swore extensively, pushing his hair out of his eyes. “Castiel, you know what he does to you. Are you sure you can handle this?”

Castiel nodded, even though he wanted nothing more than to turn and run in the other direction. “Let’s go upstairs and finish this quickly.”

Gabe shook his head. “All right. Whatever you say.” He waited for Castiel to head for the stairs, and when Castiel was out of earshot, he ducked close to Dean and hissed, “Don’t. Leave.”

“Gabe, what’s goin’—”

Gabe held up a hand to silence him. “I’ll explain later. Just don’t you dare leave. Castiel will need you after this is over.” And he disappeared, running up the stairs behind his brother.

Flummoxed, Dean sat back down on the couch, wondering what Michael had done to make Cas that nervous.

* * *

 

Michael was standing by the window in Castiel’s office looking out over the backyard, the light highlighting his slick hair and sharp features.

Castiel entered the room with a hesitant tread and immediately tried to clear off his desk. “Sorry, it’s been a while since I’ve straightened up—”

“Don’t bother, Cas,” Gabe replied, coming into the room behind him and pulling the door almost-closed behind him. _That’s another thing_ , Castiel fuzzily remembered. _Always leave the door open._ “He doesn’t care.”

Michael ignored them both and picked up a pile of meticulous notes from Castiel’s armchair before unceremoniously dropping it on the floor and sitting down in the vacant seat. “Well,” he said, sounding completely disinterested in the proceedings. “Shall we begin?”

“Please do,” Gabe shot back, leaning against the doorframe and keeping one eye on Castiel, who sat down in his desk chair.

“Very basically,” Michael began, opening the file folder, “the company’s diversifying and we’re seeking out new investors, so we’ll be decreasing the percentage of stock you have in the company.”

“How much?” Gabe asked, much to Castiel’s relief.

“Only three percent. For each of you.” The corner of Michael’s mouth twisted in some sick satisfaction. “Meaning you’ll have seven percent of the stock instead of ten.”

“And how much stock are _you_ losing?” Gabe raised an eyebrow.

“That’s irrelevant.” Michael pulled out a few papers from the folder. “You just have to sign these legal agreements confirming that the change was made with your consent, and I’ll be on my way.”

Wary, Gabe took the papers from Michael and scanned them with a focused eye. _Looks like that unfinished law degree might actually pay off,_ Castiel thought numbly. After a few moments, Gabe handed them to Castiel, still carefully watching him.

Castiel glanced at the forms, barely processing the legal jargon but able to understand enough that he knew how much stock he was going to lose, not that he particularly cared. He slid them onto his desk and reached for a pen, signing and initialing in all the right places. When he’d finished, he clicked the pen closed and tried to swallow, Gabe appearing at his shoulder and taking the papers, handing them back to Michael.

“Thank you.” Michael’s slick smile returned as he closed the folder but didn’t stand up, locking his gaze on Castiel. “So, little brother, how’s the new job?”

“Shut up,” Gabe snapped. “You lost the right to be in his life years ago. You need to leave.”

“What, I can’t ask Castiel if he’s enjoying Professorship, or how his new book is coming along?” Michael stood up as well, his limbs unfolding like a praying mantis. “Come now, that’s hardly fair.”

“Fair’s got nothing to do with it.” Gabe took a step closer to Michael. “Why d’you have to push his buttons? Haven’t you done enough already?”

Michael looked at him for a moment. “I haven’t done anything, Gabriel. He’s the one living in foul, aberrant sin.” His gaze snapped to Castiel. “How’s Dean, Cassie? You taken it up the ass yet? Has he made you _bleed?”_

“All right, that’s it.” Gabe grabbed Michael by the shoulders and pushed him towards the door. “You’re done. You’re leaving.”

“Oh, am I?” Michael smirked, looking at Gabe like he was some kind of overzealous puppy before his cold, dark eyes locked onto Castiel, who started to shake in his seat.

Gabe noticed and his face twisted with fury; he gave Michael an extra-hard shove out of the room, the door flying open. He manhandled Michael down the stairs, shouting things that Castiel couldn’t discern, and Castiel gripped the edge of the desk, feeling the room start to spin around him, his vision blurring, his lungs unable to take in enough oxygen as his throat constricted with fear.

* * *

 

Dean was on his feet the moment he heard the door upstairs bang open, and he stared as Gabe and Michael came barrelling down the stairs, Gabe yelling things like, “YOU SICK SON OF A BITCH, YOU JUST HAD TO, DIDN’T YOU?! YOU JUST _HAD_ TO GET A WORD IN, YOU COULDN’T JUST LEAVE HIM ALONE—!” He pushed Michael in the direction of the front door, and Michael backed away, still smirking and holding his hands up in mock-surrender as he left the house, leaving the front door open.

“Go,” Gabe panted to Dean, his eyes wild. “Cas is in bad shape.” He squared his shoulders and followed Michael. “I’ve got an assbutt to punch.”

Dean barely took a moment to process this before he was running up the stairs and into Castiel’s office. Castiel was sitting at his desk, trembling violently with his face hidden in his hands and his body curling into the chair.

“Cas!” Alarmed, Dean reached for Castiel’s hands, wrapping an arm around his back. “What’s goin’ on?!?”

Castiel’s response was a high-pitched whine and his trembling escalated; Dean could practically feel himself vibrating from the contact. Terrified and at a loss for what to do, Dean started pleading with him, saying things like, “C’mon, Cas, it’s okay, you’re okay, he’s gone and he’s not comin’ back, you’re okay, I promise, please, please just come back to me, buddy, please come back—”

Gradually, Castiel seemed to stop shaking, the tension starting to leak out of his body, and soon he was taking a ragged gasp, resurfacing from his hands. He looked deeply shaken, his eyes shining with unshed tears and his face devoid of all color. “S—sorry,” he managed to whisper.

Dean tramped down the urge to throttle him for saying such a thing. “Why are you apologizin’?! All that matters is that you’re okay, and from what I can tell, you’re not okay! What happened?!”

Castiel slumped back in his seat and Dean shifted so that he could grip Castiel’s shoulder. “Panic attack,” Castiel mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

“A panic attack?” Dean repeated. “Why—?”

“I haven’t had one in years, not since—” He chuckled humorlessly. “Not since the last time I saw Michael, actually.” Castiel shuddered bodily and shrank back into his seat again.

Dean’s grip tightened. “Why’s he make you have panic attacks?”

Castiel was silent for a long moment before he said, “Is he gone?”

Dean accepted the redirection with a grim frown. “Yeah. I think Gabe punched him, though.”

Castiel’s mouth twitched. “Unsurprising.”

There was the sound of someone coming up the stairs and a second later Gabe banged into the room, rebounding off the door. He leaned down to look Castiel in the eye, one of his cheekbones bright red and starting to swell. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Castiel assured him, though his voice and expression suggested the opposite. “Are you?”

Gabe shook his head dismissively. “Michael can’t punch to save his life. And besides, I got to break his nose.”

“Heh.” Castiel half-smiled. “That’s good.”

“He had a panic attack,” Dean said to Gabe, since it didn’t seem like Castiel would be telling him anything anytime soon. Castiel shot him a dirty look and Gabe’s expression morphed into one of worry.

“Really? Shit. Are you okay now?” Gabe asked Castiel. “Do you need anything? Water? Food? A nap?”

Castiel shifted away from both of them. “No. I’m fine.” But he refused to make eye contact with either of them. “Let’s just go back to watching the game.”

“All right,” Gabe agreed warily. “But I’m calling Anna. She’ll want to talk to you.”

Castiel accepted this with a nod and slowly stood up, still unsteady on his feet. “Let’s go see who’s winning,” he said drily, avoiding both their gazes before heading downstairs. Dean and Gabe exchanged a look before following him, both unconvinced that Castiel was even close to being all right.

* * *

 

Dean was worried about Castiel.

They’d sat and watched the rest of the game, Gabe alternately icing his knuckles and his face, much more subdued than they had been earlier. Dean and Gabe kept shooting glances at Castiel, both of them waiting for… something, anything, any sign of being… not unhappy, but at least not okay. The only real change in Castiel was his silence, his inattention: he’d opened his book again, but had only stared down at the words instead of reading them, never once turning the page, his gaze unfocused and dark. Even when he’d spoken to Anna (at Gabe’s insistence), his voice had sounded disconnected, like he wasn’t really paying attention to what he was saying, which was distressing enough in and of itself. The game had started in on the fourth quarter (the Patriots were winning, but Dean found that he didn’t care) when Dean felt a small poke in his side and turned to see Gabe nudging his phone in Dean’s direction, a message typed out on a fresh notepad:

_he’s definitely not okay_

Dean chewed on his lip before making eye contact with Gabe and nodding. They both glanced at Castiel again, who displayed no change, before turning their attention back to the phone. Gabe started typing:

_we should take him out after the game_

Dean nodded again and Gabe continued:

_what does he like to do for fun here?_

Dean surreptitiously took the phone from Gabe, trying not to attract Castiel’s attention, and typed out a reply:

_he loves feeding the ducks at this park nearby and then we should take him for a milkshake at Sweet Moses_

He gave the phone back to Gabe, who read the sentence with a nod before his brow furrowed and he typed out:

_Moses?_

Dean smiled and typed back:

_ice cream place, not the guy._

 

* * *

 

Dean hastily shoved another handful of popcorn into his mouth in an effort to avoid looking at Cas for the six-hundredth time that day. Gabe mimicked him, his cheeks bulging like a chipmunk’s.

They were at the drive-in in Castiel’s car (Gabe had been gleeful at the opportunity to drive it), watching _On The Town_ in a supposed celebration of Gabe’s last night in town (Dean silently sent a prayer of thanks to the drive-in’s manager for liking Gene Kelly); Gabe was thrilled that he and the title character shared a name. Castiel’s mood hadn’t changed; he’d been quiet for the entire afternoon and evening, replying to all of their questions in simple phrases and always seeming to have his mind somewhere else, even as he fed the ducks and worked his way through a vanilla malt. Dean and Gabe had hastily tried to make up for it, Dean asking as many questions as he could think of about pastry-making and restaurant-managing, Gabe doing the same for nursing and car-rebuilding. If Castiel noticed that anything was off or awkward, he gave no indication of it.

A few minutes later, Dean’s ears pricked up, because was that—? He straightened in his seat (he was sitting in the back, with Castiel and Gabe in the front) and leaned forward slightly, starting to smile, because Castiel was mumbling along with the lyrics to “Prehistoric Man.” Dean eagerly made eye contact with Gabe, because that was a good sign, wasn’t it?

Gabe hummed along as the song continued, and when it ended, he turned to Castiel and said, “You’re sounding pretty good there, bro. Is this your favorite Gene Kelly movie?”

Castiel flinched minutely at being addressed and shook his head. “ _It’s Always Fair Weather_ is my favorite.”

Dean frowned a little. “What about _Singin’ in the Rain?”_

Castiel turned to look at him with a ghost of his smile. “That’s reserved for sick days and injuries.”

Dean smiled back. “Gotcha.”

Suddenly, there was a sound like a huge gunshot: on the other end of the field, where the entrance was, an old car had backfired. Castiel jumped violently at the sound, his hands scrabbling for purchase before he squeezed his eyes shut, his breathing starting to quicken. Dean abandoned his popcorn, his heart pounding in his ears as he reached to get a hold of Castiel’s shoulder. “Cas?”

Gabe slid a hand around Castiel’s arm, his face twisted with worry. “Cas? I need you to take a deep breath, okay? In-out.” He performed the motion himself, and a few tense moments later, Castiel took a deep, uneven breath, his body shaking. “Another,” Gabe coached him, and Castiel obeyed, gradually beginning to calm down. Castiel pulled in another breath, blinking his eyes open, his gaze full of fear. “Okay,” he managed to say a moment later, rubbing his eyes with a sigh.

“You okay?” Gabe asked him gently.

“Yes.”

“You sure?” Dean prodded, one hand still on Castiel’s shoulder.

“ _Yes_.” Castiel twisted away from Dean’s grip before letting out another breath and leaning his head against the window. Gabe and Dean made eye contact over Castiel’s shoulder, and Dean saw his own panic reflected in Gabe’s features.

“I can see you doing that,” Castiel snapped; Gabe and Dean hastily dropped their gazes.

“Sorry,” Gabe mumbled before he looked at his brother. “Are you sure—?”

Castiel let out a soft growl of annoyance that Dean almost dared to classify as cute. “Yes. Can we please just watch the movie?”

“Sure, buddy,” Gabe replied, dropping his hand from Castiel’s shoulder and turning back to the adventures of three sailors in New York City.

* * *

 

“I’m going to bed,” Castiel announced as they walked in through his front door. He tugged off his trench and hung it on the coat stand before trudging into the living room and picking up his book.

“Okay,” Gabe replied, shooting another look at Dean. “Get some rest. You need it.”

Castiel turned around, looking between them. “Thank you both for all your help today. It was… exceptionally nice of you.” He offered them a soft smile before heading up the stairs, calling out, “Goodnight!”

“‘night, Cas,” they called back, almost in-sync.

Gabe waited until he heard Castiel’s bedroom door close before he made eye contact with Dean and jerked his head in the direction of the kitchen. Dean nodded and followed.

Gabriel made sure to close the kitchen door before he shook his head and pulled out a can of cat food. “Shit. It’s bad.”

“Really?” Dean leaned against the counter; Bastet perked up from where she was sleeping next to the sink and let out a little chirp. “How can you tell?”

Gabe popped open the can, grabbed a spoon, and started to fill one of Bastet’s food dishes. “He forgot to give Bastet her dinner, for starters.”

Dean hummed. “I see your point. And I guess the panic attacks aren’t good, either.”

“Most certainly not.” Gabe heaved a sigh and slid Bastet’s food dish in front of her (she dug in with a purr). “Dammit!” He knocked the empty can into the sink, causing Bastet to flinch and cast him an indignant look. “Why did the bastard have to show his face? God, _why?_ Everything was so perfect and he just had to—” Gabe knocked the spoon into the sink, where it rattled against the can. This time, Bastet jumped and stared at him before settling back into her meal.  

Dean watched him warily. “What’s the history?”

Gabe blinked down at the counter before taking a breath. “Not mine to tell.” He straightened up, the bruise under his eye obvious in the kitchen’s light. “Let’s just say Michael’s an abusive son of a bitch and leave it at that.”

Dean balked; Gabe caught his expression and nodded. “Yeah, it’s pretty fucking awful.” He went over to the freezer, pulled out a bag of frozen peas, and slung it onto his right hand, hissing at the contact. “We… weren’t exactly a happy family.”

“Yeah, I’m beginnin’ to get that.”

Gabe looked at him for a moment, his gaze evaluating. “Has he told you about the dreams? The ones from when our dad...?”

Dean nodded. “I’ve actually had to wake him up from a few of them.”

Gabe quirked an eyebrow. “So I guess you know what they do to him.”

“Unfortunately, yeah.” Dean sighed a little. “I don’t think he’s gotten a proper night’s sleep in a very long time.”

“You wouldn’t be wrong,” Gabe replied, fiddling absentmindedly with the peas. “Out of all of us, Cas definitely got the worst of it. Partially because he was the youngest, partially because he was so different personality-wise, partially because he wasn’t straight.” Gabe shook his head and looked about twenty years older. “Ten bucks says he won’t let himself fall asleep tonight.”

Dean hummed in agreement; he’d believe it.

Gabe pulled out his phone using his good hand and started tapping away. “Listen, as much as I’d like to, I can’t stay for any longer, not that Cas would even let me. So I’m going to have to rely on you to keep an eye on him, if you’d be willing—”

“Of course,” Dean assured him, feeling an unhelpful little flutter in his belly. He reeled off his phone number for Gabe, and a moment later, heard his own phone _ding!_ from Gabe’s text.

“I don’t know how he’s going to react to this, or how he’s going to handle it.” Gabe transferred the frozen peas to his cheekbone and winced. “But it definitely isn’t going to be pretty, if the past is anything to go off of.”

Dean frowned. “What’s happened before?”

“Well, the problem with Cas is that his coping mechanism is to internalize everything, to compress it and stuff it all in so he won’t risk hurting other people or, Heaven forbid, getting them upset.” Gabe rolled his eyes. “It’s incredibly frustrating, especially considering the crap he’s been through. He _needs_ to talk about it, but thinks that doing so will make life harder for the people who care about him, so, he never talks about it.”

“He told me the story,” Dean said abruptly, his mouth getting a mind of its own. “Of the dream, I mean. He told me what happened.”

Gabe’s eyebrows went the highest Dean had ever seen them go. “Really? Wow.” He considered Dean for a moment. “You must be pretty special to him. He doesn’t tell just anybody that story. In fact, I don’t think he’s ever told anyone that story. Everyone in our family already knew. Well… maybe he told Balthazar. But even that seems unlikely.”

Now it was Dean’s turn to raise his eyebrows. “Balthazar?”

“The only long-term relationship he’s ever had. It was during college.” Gabe noticed Dean’s look and smirked. “Jealous?”

Dean coughed, caught. “No.”

Gabe’s expression turned serious. “Look, Dean. I don’t know what your feelings might be for my brother, but going off of what I’ve noticed, I think you’re definitely a little more than interested. And he definitely feels the same way about you.”

Dean’s heart rate went supersonic and he blindly wondered if his knees might give out because _holy shit this can’t be happening_.

Gabe grinned a little. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He opened the freezer and tossed the peas back in. “But he thinks you’re straight, Dean. Like, really really _really_ straight, even though you’re not, are you?”

Dean shook his head vigorously.

“So you need to talk to him. I don’t mean now, and definitely not until this whole Michael thing has blown over, but maybe after that. Cas needs a stable and supportive friend right now more than he needs anything else, and his mental health should be your top concern, above everything else, even the concern of your crotch-snake.”

Dean choked a little.

“But when things are back to normal, Dean, you’ve got my blessing, and Anna’s too, probably. And you have more than a shot in the dark with him, he… he thinks the world of you. You’re kind of his sun and stars.” Gabe shot him an endearing little smile and Dean realized that for all his boisterous conduct and well-built walls, Gabe was a full-blown romantic. “Just save it, okay? Wait for the best moment, when Cas is himself again and, most importantly, when _you’re_ ready. For now, just be his best friend. Can you do that?”

Dean grinned, his heart singing. “Try’n stop me.”

* * *

 

_“You filthy little abomination,” Michael spat, his eyes flashing with unreserved hatred. “How dare you stay here, eating our food, drinking our water—” He stood up, pushing away from the dinner table. “You deserve to rot in Hell!”_

_“Michael, please,” Anna pleaded. “We were just talking, it doesn’t matter—”_

_“Shut up,” Michael half-yelled, striding around the dinner table; Castiel stood up, his fifteen year-old heart pounding with dread as his eldest brother advanced, his face ugly and cruel._

_“Michael, don’t—” Gabe began._

_With a grunt, Michael swung, hitting Castiel cleanly across the face. Castiel flew backwards into the corner of the dining room, pain exploding over his  jaw as he heard a low ‘crack.’ The room spun around him, filled with Anna’s screams and Gabe’s yells, and Castiel foggily remembered that they were home alone, that his mother was at the opera, that she wasn’t there to step in and save him, and he curled into the corner, desperate to try and save himself. Michael loomed in front of him, black against the bright light of the chandelier, and Castiel barely had time to prepare himself before Michael struck again, pounding his fists into Castiel’s face and body like his life depended on it. The pain was so intense that Castiel almost forgot to be afraid, even though terror was building his stomach into a sick boil, stars exploding in front of him as Michael blacked one eye, then the other, knocking Castiel’s head against the wall, kicking him in the stomach and ribs— Castiel heard the dull ‘crack’ of another two bones and decided that ‘pain’ wasn’t a good enough word for what he was feeling, for the unstoppable, blind heat that was coursing through his body, consuming everything, and as he watched Gabe pounce on Michael in a futile attempt to stop him, Michael rearing back to prepare for another blow, he feebly wished that he was—_

Castiel lurched awake mid-scream, his limbs on fire and his stomach eating itself alive. He fell out of bed, the room spinning around him, and dragged himself to the bathroom in time to pull open the lid of the toilet and heave, the sparse contents of his dinner splashing into the pristine white bowl. He groaned, his head splitting and his body trembling from the all-consuming fear, before vomiting again, even though there was nothing more for him to throw up. But his stomach refused to calm down, and his groans became sobs as he dry-heaved, again and again, until finally, his stomach had had enough, and he was able to flush the toilet and take a ragged gulp of air. His limbs gave out and he splayed across the bathroom floor, shaking violently and barely able to breathe through a flood of anxious tears and the thick hammering of his heart.

He lay there for what felt like a small eternity, gradually calming down as he swallowed his tears and felt his heartbeat begin to slow. _Well_ , he thought dimly. _Welcome to Tuesday._

 

* * *

 

Castiel, true to habit and his very real fear of what havoc Michael’s visit had wreaked on his psyche, had stayed awake for all of Sunday night working on his paper, groggy though he was when he hugged Gabe goodbye (“Call me, Cas, seriously, call me,” Gabe had insisted while his taxi lingered by the curb) and taught his class (he’d only fumbled his words once, which he considered a personal achievement). He’d managed to make it through the day on coffee and a little bit of wishful thinking, ignoring the worried looks that Hael sent his way every time he came into the office.

He’d fought his hardest when it came to falling asleep that night, barely managing to make it through a handful of crackers and cheese for his dinner (the idea and scent of food had made him gag). When Dean had called him with a “Hey, Cas, how you doin’?” he’d replied with a hasty “Fine,” and said goodbye as quickly as he could, even though he could hear the way he was snubbing Dean, probably hurting him. But, he’d only managed to stay awake for over twenty-four hours very few times in his life, and he’d fallen asleep as he was sitting on his bed going through his notes, ripped awake by the dream not three hours later.

When he stumbled into his office about ten minutes before his class started, Bastet in her carrier, Hael actually stood up at her desk with a genuine look of worry. “Castiel—”

“I’m fine,” he said gruffly, glad that he was far enough away from the windows to not be reminded of his reflection (disturbingly pale, huge purple circles under his eyes, five days’ worth of stubble lining his jaw and part of his neck). “Just had a… rough night.” He took a pull at his portable mug, which was becoming more like his lifeline or maybe a small IV, before gently depositing Bastet on the floor and unzipping the bag so she could crawl out. Then, frowning down at aforementioned portable mug, he stumbled into his office to grab his books and drawled, “I do believe that we should get a coffee maker. That would be a wonderful investment and make so many lives so much easier.”

Hael watched him go with wide eyes before pulling out her phone and sending a quick text:

< Dean Winchester: he’s worse than yesterday, and it looks like he’s already on his 3rd mug of coffee. what do i do??

Castiel reappeared and she hastily tucked her phone into her top drawer. He tried to smile as he passed by, his gait a little wobbly. “You’re wonderful,” he told her on his way out, bumping into the doorframe as he did so.

Hael bit her lip and shook her head, quickly checking her email before scooting away from the desk and joining Bastet on the carpet, where she received a welcome series of headbutts and a loud purr. Smiling, Hael scratched under Bastet’s chin, and a moment later, her phone pinged with a response:

> Dean Winchester: shit. knew i shouldve called him. try and get him to smush apples

> Dean Winchester: **eat something

< Dean Winchester: how did that autocorrect even happen?

> Dean Winchester: no idea

> Dean Winchester: ask the cloud

Accordingly, when the end of Castiel’s class approached, Hael carefully shut Bastet in and headed for the cafeteria, putting together a tray that she thought covered all the bases: garden salad with vinaigrette, some pasta marinara, a small French roll, and a fresh apple. She took it back to his office, ready to ambush him when he reappeared, guessing that if Dean’s intuition was anything to go off, Castiel wouldn’t be heading to lunch.

Castiel did reappear a few minutes after his class ended, somehow looking worse than he had before, his travel mug presumably refilled, wavering as he came into the office. Hael stood up, offering him the tray: “I happened to be down in the cafeteria and took the liberty of grabbing you some lunch. Hope you don’t mind.”

Castiel actually seemed to wince at the sight of food and he gave her a reluctant smile. “Thanks, Hael, but I’m really not in the mood to eat—”

“You’ve had nothing but coffee since eight o’clock this morning,” she cut in. “Unless you plan on becoming an ulcer connoisseur, you need to eat something.”

Castiel’s entire frame seemed to stutter at her words, and he reluctantly reached forward to take the French roll, which he held with the tips of his fingers as if it were a piece of dung. “Thank you,” he said with another attempt at a smile before shuffling into his office.

Only two students showed up during his office hours, for which Hael silently thanked the gods she’d heard Castiel mention over the months as she glumly ate the rejected parts of Castiel’s lunch. Each of his visitors left looking slightly wary, if not worried about their Professor. _They probably think he’s hungover_ , Hael thought glumly, going back to keeping Bastet company on the carpet.

An hour or so later, Castiel finally gathered his things to go home, and Hael bundled Bastet into her carrier, making sure there were at least two blankets to keep her warm. Castiel thanked Hael as he shouldered the bag, wishing her a good night as he left the office. Once he was safely down the hallway, Hael ducked into his office, her hopeful mood vanishing when she saw the French roll sitting on the edge of his desk, the smallest part of the end broken off.

< Dean Winchester: didn’t work. he didn’t eat. and i think he’s consumed a pot of coffee by this point.

She didn’t receive a reply until just over an hour later, when she was at home surfing the Internet for a decent ottoman.

> Dean Winchester: okay

> Dean Winchester: try again tomorrow

> Dean Winchester: i’ll take care of him tonight

Hael grinned as she sent off “okay great!” in response, wondering when the hell these two were going to get their act together.

* * *

 

At first, Castiel was inclined to ignore the knock at his front door, but when whoever it was persisted for several minutes, he rolled his eyes and answered it, his mouth dropping open in surprise when he saw who it was.

“Hey, Cas!” Dean grinned at him, holding two plates covered in tin foil. “Hungry?”

Castiel barely managed not to groan. “No, not really.”

“Great!” Dean stepped past him and headed for the kitchen, calling out a greeting to Bastet, who meowed in response. Bewildered and unconvinced that this wasn’t a hallucination, Castiel followed him, running into the kitchen doorway in the process.

Dean was cheerfully unwrapping the plates, which were piled high with spaghetti and meatballs. “Come and get it,” Dean told him, grabbing two sets of cutlery. Castiel obeyed with reluctance, a reluctance that wasn’t obvious until they were sitting at Castiel’s dining table and Dean was halfway through his meal while Castiel had barely taken a bite.

“Not hungry?” Dean asked as he sliced a meatball into thirds, of all things.

“Afraid not,” Castiel mumbled, his stomach lurching as he caught another whiff of finely-spiced tomato sauce and succulent meat.

“Hmmm.” Dean sucked up another mouthful of pasta. “It’s gonna get cold. And don’t tell me that I spent an hour and a half slavin’ over this for nothin’.”

Castiel stared at him. “You made this?”

“You bet. But the recipe’s huge, so I thought I oughtta share.” Dean sent him a smile that he definitely didn’t deserve.

Castiel hesitated, caught between guilt and not wanting to throw up. Eventually, he stuck his fork into a small cluster of pasta and half a meatball, spinning it gently until he had a little bundle. Ignoring his instincts, he quickly shoved the bite into his mouth and chewed.

And _oh my God_. Castiel’s expression went blank. _Oh my GOD_ because this was easily the best spaghetti and meatballs he’d _ever had_ and the only thing he wanted to do was spit it out. Guilt leaked into his stomach as he swallowed, almost crying with how badly he wanted to attack the plate of food until it was empty but knowing that he wouldn’t be able to enjoy it as much as it deserved to be enjoyed and that he’d probably end up throwing it up at some point, and he didn’t want to hurt Dean’s feelings but knew that he probably would.

Dean slurped on a noodle. “So, whatcha think?”

“It’s… a triumph, Dean. You’re a fantastic cook.” Castiel slumped back in his seat, trying to get as far away from his plate as possible, feeling even worse than he had before Dean had knocked on his door. He took a sip of his lukewarm coffee, shoving down the reminder that it was his least-favorite thing to drink.

Fifteen minutes later, Dean left with both plates, assuring Castiel that he wasn’t offended, that more leftovers was a good thing, and that he’d come by to check on him tomorrow.

“Why,” Castiel demanded of him, but Dean dodged the question and told Castiel to sleep well, a note of urgency in his voice that made Castiel blink a few times. Surely Dean— _no_ , Castiel told himself as he shut and locked the front door. _No way Dean knows what’s going on._

* * *

 

Castiel made it to Wednesday with two hours of dreamless sleep sometime between four and seven A.M., Thursday without sleeping at all, and Friday with a nightmare that had apparently made him scream so loudly that he didn’t have his voice for most of the morning, and almost late for work because it had reduced him to a quivering, Migraine-ridden mess.

Needless to say, he was dreading the weekend. But, he managed to dodge Dean’s phone calls and Hael’s attempts at giving him lunch (she was growing more persistent every day), only answering Gabe’s first call to assure his brother of his complete and total okay-ness and ignoring all the other calls and voicemails. Castiel lost track of days, minutes, and hours, didn’t know if seconds actually existed, and began to worry if soon he’d start to see hallucinations of Michael or his father, just enough for the nightmare to become a waking reality.

He tried burying himself in his work, finishing all of his grading in one day and reading an entire book through the night, though he had no way of telling whether or not his notes and comments made coherent sense. At least he managed to get Bastet to the vet on Saturday to get her cast sawn off, after which she looked rather pleased with herself. On Sunday morning, he slept undisturbed for three hours and felt a little bit better afterwards, especially after he’d chugged his second coffee of the day.

Increasingly, Castiel would suddenly come out of a blackout to find himself standing at the top of the stairs with no recollection of what he’d come upstairs for, or in a shower that was rapidly turning cold with no memory of even getting undressed. As Monday approached, he realized that driving probably wouldn’t be the best idea, and called to reserve a car to take him to and from Oberlin for the duration of the week before falling into a semi-conscious stupor, barely remembering to feed Bastet her dinner and (unsuccessfully) trying to read a new book about gender roles in the Qu’ran.

His lecture on Monday was sloppier than usual, and some of his students were looking at him with real concern. He was just glad that he’d managed to shave without slicing his carotid. Castiel stumbled through his office hours, only once forgetting what he was talking about and eating three crackers to placate Hael who, unfortunately, had not introduced a coffee maker to the office.

That night, he didn’t manage to make it to the bathroom before he threw up, from the dizziness and pounding headache more than anything else. He hugged the trash can he’d put next to his bed as a precaution and it took almost ten minutes for the room to stop spinning, after which he cried a little with relief, Bastet nuzzling next to him and licking the tears from his face. Even after he woke up, he could feel the ghost of his ribs breaking, his jaw cracking, the bleached-urine smell of the local hospital that patched him up after every one of Michael’s episodes hanging in his nostrils.

Tuesday was hellish, and he blacked out during lunch hour, managing to resurface in time for the appearance of one of his students and to be punctual  for a department meeting. As he fumbled his way out of the office, he gave himself a mental pat on the back for thinking of the car service idea. He had a different driver every time, and each one of them quickly learned not to ask any questions.

Dean, though, was a different story. He was obstinate to a tee, calling Castiel at least once a day and showing up on his porch almost every night with food in hand before he went off to his shift. Castiel took extreme precautions, ignoring his phone and pretending that he couldn’t hear Dean’s knocks and eventually, his pleading. Gabe started to call more frequently, Anna too, and soon, he could feel Hael’s wary gaze even when his door was closed. It made him so frustrated that he wanted to sob, because he couldn’t explain this to them, he couldn’t make them understand that he had to be left alone, that he had to wait out this ‘spell’ like a drought.

Castiel had stopped counting his mugs of coffee by the time he hit forty, although by Wednesday he thought the number might’ve been close to sixty, at the lowest. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten something ( _Although maybe Monday_ , he thought dizzily on his way to school) or if he’d remembered to change his shirt.

Thursday was the hardest day yet.

Castiel hadn’t slept in over two days, hadn’t eaten anything other than a cracker in longer than that, and he was starting to have trouble remembering what he had and hadn’t done. ‘Exhausted’ wasn’t a good enough word to describe the way he felt and the way the world had turned to soup around him, the current relentlessly dragging at his eyelids and ankles without a shred of mercy. The edges of everything around him were always blurred, and sometimes he didn’t know if what he was hearing or seeing was real. If he was going to be honest with himself, he wasn’t sure how much longer he could take this. A… ‘spell’ had never lasted this long before.

He was five minutes away from home, from the blissful ‘maybe’ of a few hours of dreamless sleep, when the dizziness hit, potentially worse than it had ever been before. Castiel’s heart rate picked up exponentially and his mouth went dry; forcing himself to stay calm, he bent forward until his forehead was resting on his knees, silently praying for it to stop by the time the car arrived at his house.

But, of course, it didn’t stop, and the world was still spinning as the driver pulled up outside 2154 Fulton Road.

“Here y’are, boss,” his driver said, his voice swampy and sounding like it was coming from hundreds of miles away, even though he was just in the front seat.

Castiel slowly opened his eyes to the black fabric of his trousers, his stomach lurching unhelpfully. When he didn’t move right away, the driver added, “Boss? Y’okay back there?”

“Fine,” Castiel grated out, his throat thick from telling that lie far too many times. He heard Michael’s jeering laugh ring in his ears, and he winced as he slowly sat up, reaching for his briefcase.

“Y’sure?” came his driver again, starting to sound worried.

“Yes,” Castiel insisted, though it sounded more like a plea. He opened the door and stepped onto the road, nearly whimpering at the way the world turned on its side and kicked his heart into a full throttle. He managed to swing his briefcase forward and out, using the momentum to get himself out of the car and standing mostly-straight on the pavement. He paid for it a moment later, though, when the spinning worsened and black spots sprinkled across his vision and he felt like he was about to throw up, sob, and melt all at the same time because this was torture, sheer torture—

“Cas?”

Castiel blinked, wavering on the spot, because he knew that voice, didn’t he? It sounded familiar, as the mottled clouds in the sky spun into a marble above him.

“Cas?” The voice was closer now, and anxious. “Are you okay?”

Castiel’s tongue felt like it was ten pounds and he blinked slowly, trying to get the black spots to go away. “Yessss,” he managed as the spinning got even worse, the ground seeming to tremble beneath him, “I’m fine.” And then he was falling and everything was gone, gone, gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ..... don't murder me, please? after the next chapter, i promise that you'll get your vicarious smoochies ;)


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hubrisandwax is a goddess. hope you enjoy the chapter ;)
> 
> content warning for mentions of past abuse and anxiety treatment (i guess?). and honestly i just tried my best with the medical stuff i'm really sorry if i got anything horrifically wrong!

The first thing Castiel was aware of was being thirsty. He mumbled a little, his tongue thick in his mouth, the skin above his right eyebrow itching and, a moment later, aching. But he felt… softness, mostly. His limbs were heavy and stiff, but he felt the whisper of woven fabric against his skin, the firmness of a mattress under his legs and against his back, and a point of discomfort in the crook of his left elbow. He slowly blinked awake, the room in front of him coming into focus.

The walls were pale green and the other side of the room held a small sink and a door that Castiel guessed led to a bathroom. The window displayed a dark skyline sprinkled with lights and the moving beams of main road traffic; below it lay a plush couch with a truly horrific fabric pattern. He heard the faint hum and beep of a heart monitor, and it was with a sinking feeling that he realized that he was lying in a hospital bed with electrodes attached across his chest, and that the registered nurse standing not four feet away from him looked very unamused.

“Mornin’, sunshine.” Dean watched him for a moment before going back to writing something down on what Castiel guessed was his chart. “How’re you feelin’?” He went around Castiel’s bed to the computer that was sitting by the heart monitor.

Castiel tried to swallow, unsure if he would be able to talk very coherently. “Thirssy.”

Dean gave a single nod, his attention on the monitor as he typed something in. “I’ll get you some water.” A moment later, he closed the window on the computer but pulled out his phone, his thumbs quickly jabbing at the screen. Then, he went over to the sink and filled two paper cups with water, coming around to Castiel’s right side.

Castiel tried to lift his arm to grab the cup, frowning when his hand only twitched. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the way Dean’s mouth quirked up before Dean said, “Here. I’ll get you a straw.” He pulled open one of the drawers in Castiel’s bedside table and pulled out a paper-wrapped straw, quickly unwrapping it and dunking it into one of the cups. As he lifted the cup towards Castiel, he looked into Castiel’s face, and only then did Castiel see that Dean’s eyes were tight with worry and ringed with exhaustion.

“Open,” Dean said gruffly, and Castiel obeyed, feeling the straw slide between his lips. He sucked eagerly, nearly draining the cup before he broke for air. Dean transferred the straw to the other cup and as Castiel drank, he said, “You scared the shit outta me, Cas.” He shifted on the spot with a little sigh. “Don’t you dare faint on me like that again.”

The cup empty, Castiel released the straw and let out his own sigh, feeling much more awake. “Sorry.”

Dean shook his head and rolled his eyes. “You’re gonna have to start owin’ me a dollar every time you apologize for no reason.” He put both cups back on Castiel’s tray and leaned on the bed rail, his arms crossed against his chest. “D’you remember what happened?”

Castiel blinked, scouring his memory. “Um… I was in a car.” Dean nodded his confirmation of this. “And… I think I got dizzy. And I tried to get out, but then I…” Castiel squinted. “Did I fall?”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “You’ve got a contusion as big as a super-sized silver dollar on your forehead. What d’you think?”

Castiel’s eyes widened, but Dean kept going:

“Severe dehydration and chronic exhaustion, paired nicely with an almost nonexistent blood sugar,” Dean reeled off. “And you fainted on the sidewalk before I could get to you.” He leaned a little closer, his Nurse Face on. “How’s that concussion treatin’ you?”

“Concussion?” Castiel croaked, his head starting to reel. Now that he was looking for it, he could definitely feel an ache that started in his forehead and migrated all the way to the back of his skull.

Dean shook his head and went back to the sink, refilling one of the cups and bringing it back to Castiel, sliding the straw into his mouth. Castiel drank, starting to feel a little overwhelmed, when suddenly—

“HEYYYY LIL’ BRO!” Gabe bounded into the room, looking entirely too energetic to be allowed in a hospital wing. He was at Castiel’s other side in an instant, and Dean barely had time to get the cup of water out of the way before Gabe hugged Castiel, squeezing him tightly.

“Gabe—” Castiel wheezed.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Dean snapped. “You stress out my patient, I stress out your newly-healed face, capisce?”

Gabe reluctantly let go of Castiel but kept a firm grip on him. “How’re you feeling, buddy?”

“A little…” Castiel searched for the right word. “… out of it,” he finally landed on.

Dean scoffed. “Be surprised if you weren’t.” He grabbed his clipboard again on his way out of the room. “I’ll tell the Doc you’re awake.”

“What are you doing here?” Castiel asked Gabe, belatedly wondering if this was all a dream.

“Dean called me the second you got to the hospital. Dude was almost crying.” Gabe noticed Castiel’s reaction and hastily added, “Shit. Shouldn’t have said that. Anyhow. I left the bakery with my manager and my food truck with my sous chef and came running.” He gave Castiel’s shoulder a squeeze. “You’ve been out for a while, buddy.”

Castiel blinked. “Why do you keep calling me ‘buddy?’” Gabe blushed. “How long was I—”

“It’s Sunday night.” Gabe squeezed his shoulder again. “You were asleep for two days.”

Castiel took a slow breath, letting himself process that. “Wow.”

Gabe gave him a smile that didn’t have any real heart in it. “Well, that’s what happens when you don’t sleep for the better part of two weeks. You needed to catch up.” He reached up and brushed some hair away from Castiel’s forehead, his fingers scraping something rough that Castiel realized was the bandage. “And to top it all off, you gave yourself a concussion.”

Castiel hummed. “Well, I always was an overachiever.”

Gabe’s laugh sounded a tad forced, his eyes betraying his concern. “Listen, Cas… What’s going on? I know that when I left, things weren’t, y’know, a hundred percent okay, but I had no idea they were bad enough to land you in here.”

Castiel dropped his gaze and didn’t reply. He was saved when Dean and the doctor came in a moment later, or thought he was until the doctor started talking. She introduced herself as Dr. Barnes and started walking him through what had happened, asking him a dozen questions about why he’d deprived himself of sleep and food, forcing himself to stay awake. He tiptoed around the answers, shrinking away from Gabe and avoiding Dean’s gaze, but eventually gave in to her ceaseless prodding and told her about the nightmares that had plagued him since he was young, and how the new nightmares had been triggered by the appearance of his eldest brother. He explained that he’d taken whatever measures necessary to avoid going to sleep, or to make himself so tired that when he did sleep he wouldn’t dream; the one thing he didn’t have an answer for was why food had become so repellent to him. Dr. Barnes listened with interest, taking detailed notes, and eventually asked him the inevitable question: “Why did Michael’s visit trigger these nightmares? Did he have a significant role in your childhood?”

Castiel licked his lips, belatedly wanting more water and wishing that Dean wasn’t in the room to hear this. “He… abused me sporadically throughout my childhood, but took… ‘special care’ with me during his last two years in the house, when I was fourteen and fifteen.”

Dr. Barnes paused in her note-taking and watched him carefully. “Why?”

Castiel forced himself to take a breath, ignoring the way Dean was looking at him. “Fourteen was the age at which I came out to my mother and denounced our family’s belief system; our father had left us by then. Michael found out and… he didn’t handle it well.” He became aware of a frantic beeping and realized that the sound was his heart monitor; his heart was pounding unhelpfully. Everyone in the room seemed to notice the change, and Dr. Barnes’ gaze flickered to the monitor before refocusing on him.

“I’m sorry to have to ask this question, Castiel,” she said, her tone a tad more gentle. “But what kind of abuse did you sustain from your older brother?”

“A combination of verbal and physical,” he replied, desperately wishing that he could mute the heart monitor. “But those two years were a concentration of his efforts.”

“From the time Cas turned fourteen to the day that Michael left for college, Cas was in the hospital at least once a month,” Gabe cut in, his voice thick. “You can see part of the reason why if you x-ray him. And those were just the times that our mother let us drive him to the hospital. Sometimes she...” Gabe trailed off and took a quick breath before adding, “She said that unless Cas had a broken bone or a ruptured organ, she saw no reason for us to acknowledge it. She said that… Cas deserved to suffer.”

Dean sucked in a sharp breath, the sound obvious in the relative silence of the room. Castiel forced himself not to trace the sound to its owner. “Stockholm syndrome,” he murmured. “As long as she rejected me, she saved herself from Michael’s wrath.”

“Duly noted.” Dr. Barnes clicked her pen shut. “Well, Castiel, that’s all for now. I don’t want you to stress yourself out, but just know that you will be speaking with several more doctors before you’re discharged.”

Castiel nodded. Dr. Barnes gave him half a smile before she said, “Stay put, get some rest, and eat something, okay? I’ll be back in a little while.” She left the room at a brisk pace, silence falling in her wake.

Castiel stared fixedly at the pattern on his blanket, forcing himself to count to ten before he looked up, meeting Dean’s gaze for the first time.

Dean’s expression was a complex mixture of shock and sadness, his eyes wide and shining as he stared at Castiel. Castiel felt an undefinable pang and tried to think of something, anything, to say, but then Gabe cut in:

“Hey, you hungry?” His voice was gentle, measured, and he was giving Castiel a smile that almost hid the way his hands were shaking.

Castiel tore his gaze from Dean. “Yes.”

Gabe nodded, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I’ll hit up the cafeteria, see if they’ve got anything good.”

Castiel tried to smile and he squeezed Gabe’s arm. “Cheeseburger?”

“With fries,” Gabe assured him, giving Castiel a last pat on the shoulder before he turned and left the room. Once again, Castiel tried to make himself count to ten before looking at Dean, but he only got to five before he gave in, his stomach letting out a small flutter of anxiety as he wondered what Dean must think of him.

Dean only stared at him for a moment before he dropped his gaze and came over to the bed. “How’s your mobility?”

Castiel could only blink for a moment because that wasn’t at all what he’d thought Dean would ask him. “Coming back, I think.” He flexed his right hand experimentally and was pleased to see the way it curled in and out of a fist. He started trying to move his feet and smiled when they bent and stretched accordingly under the covers. “Is it normal that I couldn’t really move?”

Dean nodded, his attention on the computer. “You were asleep for two days, some stiffness is to be expected.” He swallowed once, hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing jerkily, his eyes closing. “Full mobility is… uh… probably not far off, but just take it easy, if you want me to stretch you out a little, I can—”

“Dean.”

Dean’s gaze snapped to his, but he didn’t say anything.

“That was… a lot for you to process, wasn’t it?”

“Kinda.” Dean’s voice was rough.

“I’m sorry that you had to find out this way. I wasn’t going to tell you at all, but—”

“Why weren’t you gonna tell me?”

Castiel scoffed a little. “It’s not like I go around wearing a big sign that says, ‘Hi, my name is Castiel and my brother abused me for most of my childhood.’”

“No, but it’s still important for me to know, as your… friend.”

Castiel watched him for a moment, trying to figure out what _that_ meant. “I suppose.”

Dean closed whatever he was doing on the computer and turned to Castiel’s bed. “Well, now I know why you and Gabe acted the way you did when Michael showed up. And why Gabe broke his nose.”

Castiel smiled. “Yes. I can imagine that must’ve been a little confusing.”

“I also know that the next time I see Michael, he’ll be eatin’ a knuckle sandwich with a side of a kick to the balls.”

“And half of Wall Street would applaud you.”

Dean let out a little ‘heh’ and Castiel awarded himself a point for getting Dean to cheer up. Then, there was a little buzz, and Dean pulled his pager out of his pocket with a grimace. “I gotta make rounds. You just do what you’re doin’, don’t go anywhere or break anythin’ until your brother gets back. At least then we could make him pay for the damages.” He was halfway out the door when he turned and added, “And don’t think you’re off the hook for ignorin’ me these past two weeks. Remember, I know where you sleep.” And then he was gone, striding down the hallway, looking far too good while doing so.

 

* * *

 

The next twenty-four hours were a bit of a blur for Castiel. He ate one of the best burgers he’d ever had (Gabe reappeared a half-hour later panting and clutching two bulging paper bags: “Sorry I’m late—the cafeteria wasn’t really into doing cheeseburgers so I went to that diner you really like—”), got a fantastic night’s sleep (with Gabe insisting on spending the night on the sofa in the corner, which he had apparently done _every night_ , and Dean making a fuss about whether Castiel had enough pillows), ate a huge stack of pancakes (“The chef downstairs thinks I’m cute,” Dean explained with a wink), and was dissected by a slightly alarming number of doctors. Most of them were involved in some form of psychology, and they wanted to know every detail of Castiel’s childhood, no matter how painful, as well as the coping mechanisms he’d begun to form as early as twelve years old. Dean reappeared around five in the afternoon to sit with Castiel before his shift started (ignoring Castiel’s protests) and would occasionally throw in an unhelpful comment about Castiel’s “intellectual stardom” or to brag about what an awesome teacher Castiel was the _second_ that a therapist began to disparagingly question Castiel’s career. All in all, it was rather… overwhelming. He was finally left alone around seven o’clock in the evening, when the doctors began to retreat to their homes and dinners.

Dean shot him a sympathizing look. “Wanna watch _Dr. Sexy_ ‘til my shift starts?”

Castiel nodded dumbly then snapped to attention. “Who told you that I like _Dr. Sexy?!_ ” He’d made sure to keep that secret incredibly close to his chest, thank you very much.

“Sally was here yesterday.” Dean smiled as he turned on the TV. “Remember? The RN when you had your broken leg? She saw you through the door when you were still asleep and she asked me what you had done to yourself this time. We got to talkin’, and she confessed that you two had quite the _Dr. Sexy_ marathon.”

Castiel glared at the TV, which was showing the opening credits of a _Dr. Sexy_ episode. “Maybe.”

Dean laughed openly. “Hoo boy, I’m glad I’m not on the receivin’ end of that look. Talk about daggers.” He leaned closer to Castiel and whispered, “Don’t tell anyone, but _Dr. Sexy_ is my favorite show.” And he winked before settling back in his chair, Castiel numbly glad that they’d muted his heart monitor for the time being because _hoo, boy_.

They had just settled into the episode and were debating the longevity of Dr. Sexy’s new fling when Gabe came sauntering in, a large black bag slung over one shoulder and his hands full of takeout containers. “Sup, boys?” he grinned as he closed the door.

Castiel blinked. “When did you leave? I don’t remember you leaving.”

“Touching, Cassie.” Gabe plunked the containers down on Castiel’s bedside tray before gently lifting the black bag onto Castiel’s bed. “About two hours ago. As much as I love you, I really needed a shower. And dinner. Besides, _someone_ was getting a little lonely without you.” He reached over and unzipped the top of the bag, which Castiel suddenly realized was actually Bastet’s carrier, and a moment later, Bastet’s head popped out of the bag as she gave a loud meow.

“Bastet!” Castiel reached excitedly for her, but she was already jumping into his lap and walking up his chest to get to his face. She rubbed her head against his cheek, purring loudly, before giving his nose and chin a thorough licking, looking slightly put-off when she discovered that the majority of Castiel’s face was covered in long bristles.

Castiel chuckled as he covered her with attention. “She doesn’t like my beard.”

“She’s a liar,” Dean said instantly. “Keep the beard.”

“Okay, Dean,” Castiel said around a laugh as Bastet leaned over his face to sniff his bandage, “I’ll keep the beard.” He nuzzled Bastet for another moment before she settled down in his lap, purring loudly. “How did you manage to get her in here?”

“One, her carrier looks like a gym bag, and two, it’s helpful to be on personal terms with your RN.” Gabe grinned and began pulling out plastic cutlery.

Castiel turned to Dean. “Dean—”

“Stop. It’s the least I can do.” Dean smiled at him. “I just have to ignore that’s there’s an animal sittin’ in your bed, knowin’ that I have to go back in the mornin’ to feed her and change her litter.”

Castiel stared at him. “You’ve been—?”

“Gabe and I are takin’ turns,” Dean told him. “Don’t worry about it.”

Gabe distracted Castiel by shoving a huge portion of steaming Pad Thai in front of his face. “Eat. You’ll catch your death.”

Castiel rolled his eyes but smiled, sitting up and pulling his rolling tray closer to himself, making sure not to crowd Bastet. “What’s wrong with the cafeteria food?”

“Cafeteria food isn’t Pad Thai,” Dean clarified as he grabbed his own portion and dug in. He moaned a little and Castiel tried his best not to stare. “It definitely isn’t Pad Thai.”

* * *

 

Tuesday was a little less intense, much to Castiel’s relief. He woke up around six, feeling fully rested and blindly wondering if this was what it was like to never have nightmares. He was just beginning to bemoan Bastet’s absence (Gabe had taken her home after dinner the night before) when Dean appeared with a toothy grin and a little dish of bandages and tape. “How you doin’, Cas?”

“I’m actually feeling pretty great,” Castiel replied, sitting up. “Kind of missing my own pajamas, though.”

Dean nodded as he put the dish down on Castiel’s tray and snapped on a pair of gloves. “Makes sense.” He began pulling out pieces of gauze and tape and tore open a single-use packet of what looked like hospital-brand Neosporin. “No nightmares?”

“Nope,” Castiel affirmed, already used to the drill of changing his dressing. “How was the night shift?”

Dean shrugged, dabbed the Neosporin onto a little square of cotton, and set everything aside. “Pretty standard. No one puked on me, which is always nice. Can I?” He gestured for Castiel’s head.

“Oh, yes. Go ahead.” Castiel tilted his head towards Dean, who gently reached forward and tugged at the patch of gauze that was taped to Castiel’s forehead.

Castiel winced as the tape pulled at his skin and bits of his eyebrow, and Dean let out a low, “Sorry. Know it twinges a bit.”

“No, it’s okay,” Castiel hurriedly assured him, intrigued to see that the part of the gauze that had met his skin was patched with dried blood and something… yellow? “Did I cut myself?” He hadn’t noticed before.

Dean nodded, reaching forward with the Neosporin-ed swab and slowly dabbing at what Castiel guessed was his wound. “You hit the concrete pretty hard, so you’ve got a bit of a scrape.” He put down the swab and reached for a clean square of gauze.

“Dean, what does it… look like?”

“Uh.” Dean shot him a quick smile before he leaned forward and gently lined up the gauze. “Honestly? Kind of like you’ve got an alien eye pokin’ outta your forehead.”

At this distance, Castiel could smell Dean’s old-fashioned soap, his laundry detergent, and his unique scent, something like freshly-cut grass and the oily lanolin smell of a thick woolen blanket. It was… very distracting. He swallowed heavily and smiled back. “That sounds charming. But seriously, what does it look like?”

“It’s kinda…” Dean thought for a moment as he gently pressed the gauze to Castiel’s skin and reached behind himself to grab a piece of medical tape. “It’s like a bull’s-eye, y’know? Ring of greenish-yellow around the edge—” one piece of tape sealed the gauze to Castiel’s skin “—ring of magenta after that—” a second and third piece slid on next “—and in the middle it’s all purple and blue around the scrape.” Dean smoothed on the last piece of tape with care, giving Castiel another smile before he backed away and started gathering up his trash. “Like I said. Alien eye.”

“Apparently.” Castiel shifted slightly in the bed. “I don’t suppose you’ll be letting me get out of bed anytime soon?” At least his catheter had been removed, which meant that, with some help detaching his electrodes, he could hobble to the bathroom a couple of times a day. But he was strictly told that he had to stay in bed, which meant no exploring, or walking around or visiting the cafeteria.

Dean shot him a guilty look as he tossed the trash into the medical waste bin. “Sorry, Cas. Can’t do that yet. I’m not sure when you’re gonna be discharged, but the Docs might wanna kept you under observation for, uh, y’know… the anxiety thing. They don’t want you faintin’ again.”

Castiel nodded, starting to blush. “Gotcha.”

The ‘anxiety thing,’ as Dean put it, dominated the rest of Castiel’s day. He met his new personal psychologist, Dr. Shurley, who was a skittish hobbit-like man (“Just call me Chuck,” was the first thing he said to Castiel) but was also, according to Dean’s reply to Gabe’s inquiring text, a “freaking genius.” After Dean had clocked out with a promise to return later that evening, Castiel started to feel rather lonely, especially when Chuck asked Gabe to leave the room and come back around lunch time. Gabe obeyed, promising Castiel that he’d bring back something sweet.

Chuck began explaining a number of things to Castiel, starting off with the fact that he was holding off on a diagnosis for the time being before outlining what their time together would look like: they would most likely devoting their sessions to cognitive behavioral therapy. Castiel balked a little at the idea, but Chuck assured him of the program’s efficacy in helping patients face the sources of their fear and teach them how to work past said fear. Then, he moved into the broader realm of Castiel’s past, prompting Castiel with a few questions but mainly just listening to what he had to say and taking detailed (although illegible) notes. Already used to this routine, Castiel began telling his story in a dull sort of way before he relaxed a little, sincerely thinking about Chuck’s questions before answering them and feeling better after doing so. Before Castiel knew it, two hours had gone by, and Chuck was smiling and writing him a prescription for something called a ‘glucocorticoid.’ “See if you can get your brother to run down to the pharmacy for you,” Chuck said with one foot out the door, “and start taking them tomorrow, if you can. I think they’ll help.” He gave Castiel a nod. “I’ll see you again tomorrow. Same time. We’ll schedule your other appointments then.”

True to word, Gabe reappeared at lunchtime, clutching a paper bag and carrying what looked to be Bastet’s recovery basket covered with tin foil. “Sup, Cassie?” He slid the bag and basket onto Castiel’s tray. “You hungry?”

Castiel nodded. “What’s in the basket?”

Gabe grinned and tapped the side of his nose. “Dessert. Oh, shoot.” He started patting his pockets absentmindedly. “I think I forgot something in the car.”

Castiel opened the paper bag and saw a beautifully made ham sandwich staring back at him. Typical Gabe—he never could stop cooking, even on vacation. Castiel slid the sandwich out of the bag and took a bite. “What’d you forget? Your keys?”

“No, it was something big, something important.” Gabe frowned and chewed his lip. “Could it be—?”

“Gabe, you were always so theatrical.” A pretty redhead strode into the room, looking half-annoyed and half-amused. “Why there’s a need for all this play-acting, I don’t know.”

Castiel nearly choked on his sandwich. “Anna!”

She smiled and came over to his side. “Hey there, Cas. How’re you feeling?”

“Well, I—” Castiel quickly put down the sandwich and brushed the crumbs off his hands, reaching out for her and receiving a warm hug. “All the better, now that you’re here!”

“Thanks, bud.” Gabe sat down in his customary chair and propped his feet up on Castiel’s bed. “Really feeling the love.”

Castiel ignored him and grinned happily at his sister. “You didn’t have to come—”

Anna thwacked him on the arm. “Oh, yes I did. My little brother’s in the hospital for the second time in six months. That’s at least worth the two-hour flight. Besides,” she added in an undertone, “Gabe was pretty upset. I knew it was serious.”

“As the plague,” Gabe cut in, reaching forward to pull the tin foil off the basket. “Now who wants a croissant? Baked ‘em fresh this morning!”

A few minutes later, after they’d pulled apart and eaten most of the croissants (“God, Gabe,” Anna had groaned, “this is like crack.”) Anna nudged Castiel. “So where’s this friend of yours? Dean the Hot Nurse and even Hotter Mechanic?”

Castiel blushed fervently and prayed that none of the other nurses had heard that. “ _Anna—_ ”

“Dean’s at home, but he’ll be back later tonight,” Gabe supplied, ignoring Castiel’s expression. “Wait’ll you see the sexual tension between these two. If it were any heavier, they’d have to get a wheelbarrow.”

“Charming, Gabriel, thank you,” Castiel snarked. “And would you shut up about the sexual tension? Dean doesn’t even—”

“If you’re still riding that train, then you aren’t as smart as I thought you were.” But Gabe wisely let it drop, and the conversation moved on.

Castiel highly enjoyed an opportunity to catch up with his sister, who told him all about her current projects and even started sketching caricatures of all the nurses and doctors who passed by or stepped in to check Castiel’s levels or fluids or something (Castiel was usually too busy stifling his laughter to pay attention). By the time six o’clock rolled around, Dean was stepping into Castiel’s room all bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, and freshly-showered. Soon enough, he and Anna were getting along like a house on fire, volleying snark back and forth, and Castiel slowly came to the realization that this was his family. Once the thought hit him, he couldn’t stop smiling.

* * *

 

Castiel was discharged from the hospital the following afternoon after his second session with Dr. Shurley, riding the high of his new glucocorticoid prescription. Since it was the week of (and actually the day before) Thanksgiving, Gabe had insisted on staying with him through Sunday, Anna quickly following suit once she got the all-clear from her editor. Castiel wasn’t thrilled that he’d had to miss three days of school (Oberlin only had Thursday through Sunday off), but glad all the same that he was going to spend the holiday with his siblings, something he hadn’t done in years.

Gabe was already planning a menu, schmoozing the contacts he’d managed to make at the local farmer’s market for a small turkey, all the vegetables, and most of the ingredients for pie, even though everything was already presumably bought-out. When Castiel insisted that he be allowed to make his trademark apple pie, Gabe had put up a vehement protest, arguing that Castiel had to get as much rest as damned possible. But then Anna had stepped in and given Gabe one of her trademark death glares and the matter was settled: Castiel was going to make the pie, and Gabe was going to make the ice cream. And everything else.

“Oh, and Dean’s coming,” Anna tossed over her shoulder as she settled back into drawing what looked to be the love child of a serpent and a griffin.

Castiel stared at her. “What.”

She nodded, briefly tucking the end of her pencil between her teeth as she considered her shading. “Gabe invited him.” She shoved the drawing under Castiel’s nose. “Does that look like a Fortress of the Damned in the background? Or just an average castle? Be honest.”

“Anna, I—” Castiel batted the sketchbook away, still bemused. “Dean’s coming?”

“Yeah, and he said that he’s got some pretty high expectations for the pie.” Anna refocused on him. “Are you nervous or something?”

“Nope,” Castiel hedged. “You should give the castle spikes on the walls. And then put the decapitated heads of the Damned on the spikes.”

Anna’s eyes sparkled and she grinned. “Love it. All Game-of-Thrones-y. The author’ll lap this up.” And she set to work, her pencil flying across the paper.

 

* * *

 

Castiel spent the rest of Wednesday taking Anna on a tour of the city (Gabe obligingly drove), frowning for Gabe’s Instagrams (“They’re eating this shit up,” Gabe had chuckled as he snapped a photo of Castiel squinting into the camera), offering Anna feedback on her current project (“I’ve done three fantasy novels in a row now,” she said, shaking her head. “What I wouldn’t give for a good crime novel.”), and not-so-casually waiting for the time when Dean would stop by on his way to the hospital. On Wednesday, he caught the Novaks beginning a game of whist.

“Whist?” Dean had said, raising an eyebrow and giving Castiel his best _are you kidding me?_ expression. “What the hell is whist? It sounds like the noise an old mouse would make when it dies.”

Ten minutes later, Dean was sitting across from his partner, Anna, fervently trying to send her coded looks to communicate which cards he had in his hand. Castiel had tried his best not to laugh, but when Dean eventually stuck out his tongue and bulged his eyes, he couldn’t help it.

The great day itself had arrived with a slow promise of activity. Castiel only had until noon to bake his pie, as Gabe had reminded him about a dozen times, since they were going to be eating around five or six in the evening. All the same, Castiel paced himself, leaving an extra half-hour to slowly make, chill, and roll out his special dough, telling himself that he was doing so to make sure that he didn’t mess anything up, but a tiny part of himself acknowledging that it kind of had to do with the fact that Dean was going to be eating this pie. By the time Castiel was standing over the sink peeling apples, Gabe wandered into the kitchen, half his hair sticking up and his pajama pants catching under his heels. “Mornin’,” he said gruffly, making a beeline for the coffee maker.

“Morning,” Castiel returned with a slight smile; Gabe was so not a morning person, and Castiel found it highly amusing. “It’s a fresh pot.”

Gabe nodded, pouring himself a massive mugful and dumping four scoops of sugar in it. He paused, the mug halfway to his mouth, and looked at Castiel, his eyes suddenly much more awake. “It doesn’t bother you?”

Castiel frowned at the sink, reaching for the next unpeeled apple. “What do you mean?”

“Coffee. It doesn’t bother you?”

Castiel redirected his frown to his brother. “Why should it?”

“Because, uh, y’know.” Gabe shifted a little. “It’s basically all you consumed for two weeks straight. And you weren’t really in a good place while you were doing it, so I just thought—”

Castiel relaxed with a chuckle, turning his attention back to the apple. “No, not at all.” He shrugged. “Still don’t like the way it tastes, though.”

Gabe hummed and swallowed half his mug. “How’s the pie going?”

“Quite well.” Castiel finished peeling the apple and quickly rinsed off his hands before reaching for a knife. “The crust is in the fridge, and I’m almost done with the apples. Speaking of—” He eyeballed Gabe for a moment. “You’re sure that you’re okay doing this? Cooking on your week off?”

Gabe scoffed and waved a patronizing hand at him. “If I didn’t love it, I wouldn’t be doing it for a living.”

“Yes, but Gabe, you’re a pastry chef. You aren’t exactly Gordon Ramsay.” Castiel set about chopping the apples, taking painstaking care to make sure that each slice was even.

“So I dabbled a little in culinary school. What can I say?” Gabe refilled his mug with coffee and sugar. “But I’ve got one of the best bakeries in LA and one of the best food trucks, too. I ain’t exactly complaining.”

“What do you sell at your food truck? If you don’t cook, I mean.”

Gabe stared at Castiel like he had a third eye. “Pastry, Cas. I sell pastry. And other desserts.” A _chirp!_ sounded from the pocket of his pajama pants and he pulled out his phone with a grin. “Hey! That photo of you got more than two thousand likes. You’re getting popular, bro.”

Castiel raised his uninjured eyebrow at his apple. “For some reason, I’m not sure I like the sound of that. Hold on.” Gabe’s words sunk in and he looked up in surprise. “Two thousand?!”

Gabe chuckled at him. “Yeah. You can’t be one of the best bakers in LA without a decent social media platform. And everyone loooooves you.”

Castiel stared him dumbly. “What does that mean?”

“Well…” Gabe started scrolling down on his screen. “They’re all saying how cute you are and whatever.” He rolled his eyes. “Clearly, none of them have any taste.”

“I…” Castiel was at a loss for words, and he turned back to his apples with a blush.

His pie was sitting steaming on the counter by 11:45, and Gabe gave him a happy grin before he slid the turkey into the still-hot oven. Castiel spent the remainder of the afternoon watching Anna sketch Bastet, he and his sister sometimes poking their head into the kitchen to make sure that Gabe was staying sane.

True to his word, Dean showed up at 5:30 clutching two bottles of Martinelli’s (alcohol-free) apple cider and wearing a huge grin. “Somethin’ smells fan-freakin’-tastic.”

Castiel smiled and took the bottles. “That would be Gabe. He always shows off for company.”

Dean hummed and stepped inside, closing the door behind him. “He’s like a peacock, only not as pretty.”

“I can’t argue with that.”

“Neither can I,” Anna added, sending Dean a little wave from the couch.

Dean whistled when he saw Castiel’s dining table, which was laid out and decked to the nines. “Someone got fancy.”

“Again, that was Gabe.” Castiel put the two bottles down on the table. “He’s fond of the whole hog.”

Dean made a funny coughing noise that sounded a bit like a suppressed laugh and Castiel raised an eyebrow. “What? Did I use that expression wrong?”

“Nuh-uh.” Dean had sucked his lips into his mouth. “Nuh- _uh._ ”

Around six o’clock, Gabe yelled at them from the kitchen to “SIT YOUR ASSES DOWN, YOU LUCKY MUTHAFUCKAHS!” and they hastily scrambled to obey, applauding when Gabe came striding out of the kitchen grinning widely and bearing a truly gorgeous turkey. Then Gabe dragged Anna back with him to help bring in the side dishes, and Dean laughed as he poured them all a glass of apple cider.

“I’d like to propose a toast,” Gabe said once they’d all served themselves full plates, holding his glass of cider up high, “so lift your damn glasses, people.” Castiel, Dean and Anna did as they were told, and Gabe smirked before continuing: “I would like to toast the new things that this year has brought us. For one, Mr. Dean Winchester.” He started tapping his knife against his glass in an imitation applause and Castiel and Anna followed suit, making Dean grin and blush. “Second, Castiel’s amazing promotion-slash-new-job.” Another round of clinging, and now Castiel was the one blushing. “Third, Anna’s amazing six-book contract.” More clinging around Anna’s laughter. “And lastly, me. Because I’m just that fabulous.” Gabe took a bow as they all cheered in earnest, sitting down with a smug grin. They pulled in their glasses, about to drink, but then—

“Wait!” Dean quickly stood up, his grin shining in the candlelight. “I’ve got somethin’ to say.” He cleared his throat quickly and they all raised their glasses accordingly, Castiel wondering what on earth Dean was going to say. Almost as if Dean had heard his thoughts, Dean’s gaze flickered to Castiel’s before he began to speak: “This year, I had the pleasure of bein’ Dr. Castiel Novak’s nurse on the night he got himself into a car accident. And then I had the pleasure of meetin’ my new neighbor, Dr. Castiel Novak.” Gabe and Anna tittered at this; Castiel’s heart thumped unhelpfully. Dean looked at him again, his eyes bright and sincere. “And he has been the best friend I’ve ever had. And I mean that truthfully,” he added when Castiel started to roll his eyes. “You and Gabe and Anna have welcomed me and included me in your family in a way that’s never happened to me before. You have made me happier than I have been in months, and you’ve made me want to actually read the Bible, which is sayin’ somethin’.” Gabe and Anna chuckled again, but Castiel could only keep eye contact with Dean, his mouth dry. Dean smiled at him before saying, “So thank you. I’m honored to have been included the way I have, and I am pretty damn happy that I’m now friends with a chef, because this is the most beautiful Thanksgiving meal I’ve ever seen!” Dean broke eye contact with Castiel to cheer with the others, quickly swallowing a gulp of apple cider before sitting back down. Castiel belatedly remembered to do the same, feeling the bubbles all the way in his nose.

* * *

 

“Everybody say ‘Apple pieeeee!’” Gabe bent over said pie with a grin, phone in hand.

“Apple pieeee!” the others chanted back at him, barely holding back their laughter.

Gabe quickly flipped his phone back around so he was filming himself and said, “We are gonna eat the bejeezus out of this thing. Stay tuned.” Then he flipped his phone right-way round and quickly tapped a few buttons before putting his phone down.

“All right, Gabe, what was that for?” Dean asked as Castiel got to work carving up the pie.

“That, my fine friend, was a Vine.” Gabe scooted the bucket of homemade ice cream closer to himself and stuck the scooper into it. “Third one this evening, actually. We’re getting a lot of traffic.”

Dean and Anna nodded, but Castiel shot a look at his brother. “I don’t understand. What’s a Vine?”

Gabe sighed in a slightly endearing way. “It’s a six second video, Cas. You make ‘em and post ‘em so people can watch ‘em.”

“But why would anyone want to watch a six second—?”

“Would you carve the damn pie?!” Anna demanded. “I want pie!”

Dean raised his hand. “I second that. We need pie.”

“All right, all right,” Castiel chided them, scooping the second slice onto its waiting plate. Anna handed him the next empty one, practically jabbing the plate into his arm in her eagerness. “It seems that you all really want my pie,” Castiel mumbled as he slid the third slice onto the plate.

“It’s been sittin’ there lookin’ all pretty for far too long.” Dean leaned back in his chair, looking playfully arrogant. “It needed to be sliced up.”

“Ice cream or no ice cream?” Gabe asked them at large, working at said ice cream with the scooper.

“Ice cream!” they all replied, and he began doling out scoops with a laugh.

When they were all settled with their ice cream-covered slices steaming and melting in front of them (Gabe had thought to warm up the pie, bless him), Castiel looked up in surprise when the others all let out simultaneous groans as they chewed their first bites. “Is it good?” he asked them, fork hovering over his own slice.

“Are you kiddin’?” Dean croaked, slightly cross-eyed as he leaned over his plate and dug in for more. “It’s fuckin’ crack.”

“I second that.” Anna was already halfway through her slice and still going strong. “This is gonna be the death of me, I swear.”

“Not bad,” Gabe chimed in around a smirk. “Not bad at all.”

Castiel grinned and took a bite, feeling rather pleased with himself.

Between the four of them, they demolished the pie, Gabe taking shots of them at intervals to make another Vine. The dining room echoed with the cacophony of groans, chewing, and forks on plates, and soon, they were all too full to move.

After sitting in silence for a few minutes, Dean muttered, “All right. That’s it. I’m done.” He stood up unsteadily and wandered over to the couch, sitting down with a groan.

“I’m…” Castiel gestured sleepily over his shoulder. “I’m going over there.” He followed Dean, plopping down on the couch next to him.

“I feel ya.” Anna stood up as well, looking a little out of it.

Gabe grinned as he filmed them.

They left the dishes for when they were feeling a little more energetic and popped in Castiel’s copy of _A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving_ , snuggling into blankets and pillows as a light snowfall began to dust the ground outside. From there, they moved on to a few choice episodes of _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ , followed by _Singin’ in the Rain_ because Castiel was still technically injured.

“Oh, please,” Dean mumbled, not four inches away from Castiel’s ear. “Your bump is almost gone.” He turned to Castiel with a soft smile. “I see you milkin’ it for all its worth.”

“What can I say?” Castiel mumbled back, feeling his heart rate kick into high gear. “Any excuse to watch Gene Kelly.”

Dean chuckled under his breath and snuggled a little closer to Castiel, who was pretty sure that something small exploded in his brain as Dean did so. “That’s my Cas.”

They stayed like that for the rest of the evening; Gabe didn’t even bother to ask them to help with the dishes, and soon Bastet was hopping up onto the couch next to Dean, lying down against his leg with a purr. Castiel didn’t try to read into their closeness, but he was dimly aware of the fact that he hadn’t been the one closing the distance, and then began to wonder if maybe Dean’s feelings weren’t all that platonic, either. Regardless, he settled sleepily into Dean’s side, awash in the way Dean smelled and felt against him, his cheek leaning against Dean’s shoulder, and when Dean didn’t move, he shut his eyes, utterly content.

“Hey, Cas?” Dean rumbled a few minutes later, just as Debbie Reynolds started to sing, ‘Good Mornin’!’

Castiel went still, wondering if Dean was going to ask him what he was doing. “Yes, Dean?”

“Remember when I said that I’d… make it up to you? For you lettin’ me stay here durin’ the snowstorm?”

“Um.” Castiel sifted sluggishly through his memory. “I… suppose?”

He could hear Dean’s smile in his voice: “Well, how’d you like to come to Bobby’s with me for Christmas? Just so you’re not alone. Sam’ll be there.”

“I… are you sure?”

Dean snorted weakly, sounding as sleepy as Castiel felt. “Of course I’m sure. So. You in?”

Castiel tried to think of a reason to say no, but he couldn’t find one. “Yes, Dean. I’d really like that.”

“Awesome.”

They were quiet after that, and Castiel slowly felt himself drifting further and further towards the edge of sleep, _Singin’ in the Rain_ playing dimly in the back of his mind. Just as he was about to slip away, he could’ve sworn that he felt a warm, familiar hand nudge and grip his own. _You’re just dreaming,_ he told himself, refusing to believe the opposite.

* * *

 

“Gabe, don’t,” Anna hissed, barely able to contain her own laughter. “You’ll wake them up!”

“No, I won’t!” Gabe half-whispered back, lining his phone up to take a picture. “Besides, it’s for the Insta!” He paused and took the photo, glad that he’d remembered to turn the flash off. Gleeful, he quickly selected a filter (those two assholes were so pretty that the photo barely needed any editing) and typed out a caption, posting the photo a second later and tiptoeing back to Anna. “God. And to think they try to _deny_ being into each other. I mean—” He pulled up the photo and showed it to Anna with a grin. “Do ‘just friends’ cuddle with each other like that?”

Anna grinned at the photo, then at the two love-struck idiots asleep on the couch, a blanket thrown over them. “Nope.”

Gabe grinned back as he put his phone into his pocket. “It’s going to have so many likes by tomorrow morning, I can just taste it.”

Anna raised an eyebrow. “Regardless of that, Gabe, where am I gonna sleep tonight?”

Gabe looked at the couch, then back at her, then back at the couch. “Ah.”

“Yeah.”

“Cas has a king, if you wanna—”

“Say no more.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you probably want to punch me again (or worse) but i promise that the next chapter will be everything you want it to be! 
> 
> don't kill me!
> 
> please?


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHOOP THERE IT IS
> 
>  
> 
> enjoy ;)
> 
>  
> 
> p.s. medical disclaimer: i'm not an MD, just an avid googler. so sorry if i messed anything up.

Castiel nervously shifted from foot to foot; he really had to pee. The line for the bathroom was a good fifteen people long, and he was third in line. _Just a little longer,_ he thought. _Just hold out a little bit longer._

He was standing near terminal twenty-two in Cleveland’s airport, barely able to glimpse the edge of Dean’s light-brown hair over the wide sea of heads. Their flight to Chicago would be boarding in ten minutes; from there they would transfer to another flight for Sioux Falls, South Dakota. Although it had taken at least three days of hardcore convincing on Castiel’s end, he’d managed to get Dean to agree to flying to Bobby’s place instead of driving, which, Castiel had insisted, was too dangerous with the possibility of ice on the roads and all manner of freak snowstorms.

Castiel finally managed to make it into the bathroom, and he bent over a urinal in relief. The events of the last three weeks swam hazily in his mind, everything from the morning after Thanksgiving to the last day of classes….

He’d woken up slumped across Dean’s shoulder, at first utterly bemused about why he was on the couch, and then pleasantly surprised to realize that he’d slept nightmare-free, followed by a rather rapid descent into pure, flustered embarrassment, because, once again, he and Dean had fallen asleep on each other, and, once again, he couldn’t pretend that they weren’t cuddling.

Over a very simple breakfast, Gabe had looked at his phone and started laughing. “Three—thousand—likes,” he choked, his eyes starting to water. “Holy shit!”

Castiel had raised an eyebrow as he scraped butter onto a piece of toast. “What photo did you post this time, Gabe?”

Still laughing, Gabe had turned his phone around to show Castiel, who promptly dropped his knife. Anna had sniggered into her oatmeal. “What is it?” Dean had asked, wary. Gabe showed him, and Dean had blushed all the way to the tips of his ears.

Suffice to say, Castiel and Dean didn’t speak to each other for a while after that, both of them too embarrassed to address the nature of the photo.

Castiel had insisted on driving both his siblings to the airport on Sunday, where they said long goodbyes. Castiel wasn’t ashamed to admit that his eyes had gotten rather misty; Anna sniffled into his shoulder when she hugged him, and even Gabe was blinking more often than necessary. He wasn’t sure what had changed between him and his siblings that made the goodbye so difficult, but then he reasoned with a kind of mental kick that going through what he had gone through with them around had changed everything and reminded them of their childhood relationships, which had been close and deep. Saying goodbye to them now was akin to when he had said goodbye to them when they left for college.

The remaining weeks of the school term flew by, punctuated by Castiel’s victory in convincing Dean to fly to South Dakota and his therapy sessions with Dr. Shurley, née Chuck, which were going very well. When the nightmare finally did return, it was Castiel’s old one, the dream of being left alone in the forest, unable to find his way out, and Castiel awoke from it with a kind of relief, because it was much less traumatic than his dreams with Michael in them. Then, as he lay in bed, one hand on Bastet’s back, he’d begun to implement the breathing techniques Chuck had taught him, along with a certain kind of mental exercise that Chuck had classified as being half-meditation, half-distraction, and ten minutes later, he was fast asleep again, and didn’t dream at all.

Chuck had assured Castiel that they would begin the more intensive part of the therapy in the new year; Chuck insisted that Castiel had had a rough enough couple of months that he deserved a bit of a mental break, and focused instead on getting Castiel to talk to him and teaching Castiel different tactics to ease his anxiety. They were working quite well, and apparently, Castiel was responding positively to his new medication, which was cause for some kind of celebration.

Castiel had been diagnosed with anxiety disorder, most likely rooted in PTSD. Chuck had said this gently, his eyes kind and a little wary, but it hadn’t really shocked Castiel or upset him. To him, it made perfect sense: the trauma of his childhood had been damaging, and it was time for him to face it, to talk about it, to be honest with himself and those who were important to him.

He’d kept in avid touch with Gabe and Anna after they’d left, mostly via Skype. Gabe was swamped in holiday orders from his bakery, so he wasn’t around much, but when he was, he’d regale Castiel with stories of malfunctioning ovens and pastry bags gone awry, barely staying awake but powered by his manic fascination nonetheless. Castiel had spoken most with Anna; they’d video-chatted while he put together his final exam and she slogged through her illustrations. Every time Castiel signed off, he’d realize how lucky he was to have such amazing siblings.

The third weekend of December, the weekend after finals week at Oberlin, was a miniature hell for Castiel. He was swamped in grading, trying to power through all of his papers before he and Dean left for South Dakota; the last thing he wanted was to grade papers during his vacation. Dean had reinstated his old system of texting Castiel reminders to eat, sleep, and drink water, and Castiel had read each one with a smile.

Now, though, Bastet was in the kennel, they were stuck in Cleveland airport during one of the busiest traveling seasons of the year, and Dean was still very reluctant about getting on the plane.

Castiel had to politely shove past a number of people on his way back to Dean, fingers damp from the sub-par hand dryers in the bathroom. He found Dean staring nervously up at the board that gave their departure time, his leg jiggling up and down. “You okay?” Castiel asked him as he sat in the chair next to Dean.

“No,” Dean replied instantly. “I’m about to get into a dinky metal tube and fly through the sky.” The jiggling sped up as Dean shook his head. “I can’t believe you talked me into this.”

“I can’t believe you were going to potentially drive through ice just to avoid getting on a plane,” Castiel deadpanned. “Relax. You’ll be fine.”

“Lies,” Dean hissed, before he was interrupted by a slim, cool voice:

“Ladies and gentlemen, we will now begin boarding American Airlines flight 7493 to Chicago. Those with ‘A’ boarding passes, please line up according to the number you see on your ticket. Thank you.”

“That’s us.” Castiel stood up, tugging up the handle on his carry-on as other people began moving towards the gate. “C’mon, Dean. Think of it like this: the sooner we get on the plane, the sooner we get off the plane.”

Dean shook his head but stood up, shouldering his duffel. They moved over to the line and stood in their respective number brackett; a few minutes later, their boarding passes were scanned and they, along with a trail of other people, were walking down the gangway to get to the plane.

“See?!” Dean said in a furious whisper. “D’you know what this looks like?! This looks like the hallway to Hell!”

“Shhhh,” Castiel shushed him, fighting off a grin.

The flight attendants greeted them with wide smiles and told them that they could sit anywhere they liked. Since they had checked in so early, they were among the first people on the plane. Castiel could see Dean visibly cringing as they walked down the narrow aisle between the seats.

“Where do you want to sit, Dean?”

“Near an exit,” Dean replied through clenched teeth.

“All right. Let’s sit over there.” Castiel nodded to an empty row of seats on the right-hand side of the plane by one of the exit doors. Castiel couldn’t complain; this way, they’d have more legroom, and no one could recline into their space. They quickly hoisted their luggage into the overhead compartments and settled down, Dean taking the aisle seat and leaving Castiel in the middle.

Dean pulled out a pink iPod with earbuds attached and Castiel raised an eyebrow. “Is that your coping mechanism?”

“It’s last year’s Christmas present from Sam.” The corner of Dean’s mouth perked up. “How d’you cope?”

Castiel opened his briefcase and removed a sheaf of papers. “Proofing my current paper.”

Dean let out a little whistle. “Damn. You win.”

They sat in relative silence as the plane filled up, Dean intently focused on his music and Castiel rereading the first few pages of his paper with a red pen in hand. A young woman took the window seat next to Castiel; she gave him a shy smile from behind a thin curtain of dark hair before she, like Dean, buried herself in her headphones and stared fixedly out the window.

Castiel tuned out the hustle and bustle of people finding their seats, refocusing when he heard and felt the rumble of the plane’s engines turning on. Dean went rigid as the flight attendants started demonstrating and narrating the different safety procedures, the knuckles on the hand that was clenching his iPod stark white as the plane turned towards the runway. Then, as the flight attendants buckled in and the plane started to gear up for takeoff, Dean’s jaw clenched tightly and his breathing picked up. Just as Castiel was about to say something calming, the plane’s engines kicked into high-gear and they were pressed into their seats as the plane roared down the runway; Dean sucked in a breath and before Castiel could ask him if he was all right, Dean grabbed him firmly by the arm. Too surprised to say anything, Castiel barely noticed as they lifted into the air. As the plane stabilized and flattened out, he felt rather than heard Dean’s slow exhale, and when Dean’s hand didn’t move from his arm, Castiel couldn’t hold back a smile.

* * *

 

Dean let out a little whoop as they cleared the gangway and walked into their arrival gate at Sioux Falls Regional Airport. “Hello, solid ground! God, it’s been too long.”

“Stop hugging the pillar—people are staring!”

“I can’t help it. I’m overcome with adoration.”

Castiel pulled Dean away from the pillar, nearly taking a hit in the chest from Dean’s army duffel but ducking away just in time. “We were on the ground in Chicago. Or did you forget?”

“That didn’t count,” Dean insisted, hoisting his duffel over his shoulder. “That was only for an hour. This is sweet, blessed earth.”

“Just so long as you don’t start kissing the floor—”

“No promises, Cas.”

Castiel sighed a long-enduring sigh. “C’mon. Let’s get to the arrival lounge.”

“Thattaway.” Dean pointed to a sign that guided them down an escalator at the end of the room. “God, I can’t wait to see Sammy!”

Castiel raised an eyebrow as he followed Dean past gates 13 and 14. “You suddenly have much more energy.”

“Well, _yeah_. I’m not in a flyin’ metal can of death anymore.” Dean smiled as they neared the escalator. “Things’re lookin’ up, Cas!”

“So long as it isn’t snowing,” Castiel replied with a swift glance at the windows. “I’m not in the mood for snow.”

“Well, it’s supposed to be a white Christmas.” Dean beamed up at Castiel as they went down the escalator, a head shorter than usual because he was standing on the stair below Castiel. “And the white Christmases here are freakin’ postcard material. Perfect for gettin’ all cosy by the fire.”

Castiel felt his heart skip a beat and quickly licked his lips. “I believe you.”

“Just wait ‘til you see Sammy. You’re gonna love him. He’s such a nerd. Always talkin’ about NPR and oil spills.” Dean rolled his eyes, but Castiel saw that he was proud. “I wonder what car Bobby gave him this time.”

Castiel frowned as they stepped off the escalator. “Does he have different cars?”

“Bobby’s a mechanic,” Dean replied as he anxiously scanned the crowd of people, only about a quarter of his attention on Castiel. “He’s always fixin’ up some rust heap or other. Sammy’ll probably have the only car that’s workin’. Hey!” This last word was a shout as Dean bounded in the direction of a nearby pillar, Castiel struggling to keep up. “Speakin’ of Bigfoot—!”

“Very funny, Dean,” said the tallest person Castiel had ever met, rolling his eyes. He was lanky and broad, but still somehow gave off the air of an enthusiastic puppy, aided by his floppy brown hair and soft hazel eyes. He smiled as Dean pulled him into a hug and clapped Dean on the shoulder.

Dean pulled out of the hug but held his brother at arm’s length. “You need to stop growin’,” he said shrewdly. “I’m supposed to be the tall one here.” He gave Sam an appraising look. “Hey, you asked out that girl yet? What was her name? Jennifer?”

Sam blushed to the roots of his hair. “Jessica, Dean. And… yes. Shut up,” he added as Dean opened his mouth to gloat. “We’re being rude to Castiel.” He turned to Castiel with a small, almost shy smile. “You are Castiel, I presume?”

Castiel smiled back and propped his briefcase on top of his suitcase so he could offer his right hand. “Yes. Pleased to meet you, Sam. I’ve heard so much about you.”

Sam laughed as they shook hands; Castiel felt Sam’s hand swallowing his. “Not as much as I’ve heard about you. You’re all Dean talks about these days.” He gave Dean a look Castiel couldn’t decipher, and Castiel felt a blush rise on his cheeks.

“Stop exaggeratin’,” Dean coughed, giving Sam a none-too-gentle shove in the direction of the exit, not that it affected Sam much. “We should get goin’. Bobby’ll be mad if we’re not back in time for lunch.”

Thoroughly amused, Sam smirked. “Gotcha.”

* * *

 

The car ride to Bobby’s (in a blue 1972 Ford Maverick, Castiel found out) was a highly entertaining affair for Castiel, who got to witness Dean and Sam’s trademark banter first-hand. He’d overhead Dean’s side of it on the phone before, but seeing it in person was quite different. He was also regaled with multiple stories from their childhood, his favorite being the one where a four year-old Sam had pretended to be Batman and jumped off their shed, breaking his arm and leaving Dean to carry him to the hospital on the handlebars of his bike. It was clear that they were incredibly close and had been through a lot together.

South Dakota was undeniably beautiful, and Castiel looked up at the murky grey sky with less trepidation than before: maybe snow wouldn’t be so bad. They drove for almost forty-five minutes out of the center of the city and into rambling fields and forests. Then a sign on the side of the road appeared, reading ‘Singer Auto Repair and Restoration,’ and Sam turned up a gravel driveway. Castiel peered out the window with interest at the empty repair yard that sat in front of a large garage and shop before they were going around a corner and a tall, old wooden house with a massive porch loomed in front of them.

“We’re here,” Sam and Dean announced simultaneously, giving each other a look after doing so. “C’mon, Cas,” Dean said as he popped open his door. “Bobby’s not gettin’ any younger.”

Castiel realized the veracity of this statement when the front door swung open to reveal an elderly, bearded man who was dressed almost exactly like Sam and Dean (Castiel reasoned that a preference for plaid must run in the family) and wearing a raggedy baseball cap even though it wasn’t sunny. He looked Castiel up and down. “So this is Cas, huh?”

Castiel felt a sudden urge to salute. “Yes, sir.” He held out his right hand for the second time that day. “I’m thrilled to meet you at last.”

Bobby raised an eyebrow before he shook Castiel’s hand, his grip firm and quick. “I like him,” he said to Dean. “He’s got manners.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Dean shouldered into the house and hugged Bobby. When Bobby pulled away, his beard twitched in what Castiel assumed was a smile as he glanced Dean over.

“You look good, kid.” Bobby clapped Dean on the shoulder and Dean gave him the glare of a disgruntled teenager. “Who’s been feedin’ you?”

“That would be my brother, Gabe,” Castiel chimed in as he hesitantly stepped into the house, dragging his suitcase along behind him. “He and my sister stayed with me for a little while when I wasn’t feeling very well. Gabe’s a chef in L.A. and likes feeding people.”

Bobby took this all in with a nod. “Makes sense.” He nodded in the direction of what Castiel assumed was the kitchen. “Made sandwiches. Just grab what you want.”

“Aw, you cooked?” Dean wheedled, giving Bobby his trademark shit-eating grin. “Honey, you shouldn’t have.” He danced out of the way as Bobby aimed a half-hearted kick at him, laughing all the while.

 

* * *

 

After a long lunch of turkey sandwiches and Coca Cola from glass bottles, with Dean rehashing stories from the past couple of months that Castiel was sure Sam and Bobby had already heard, Sam discussing the implications of different religious beliefs on law proceedings with Castiel, and Bobby asking Castiel about this “so-called religious course thing” of his, Bobby shoved them all out of the house toting axes and saws with explicit instructions to either cut themselves down a Christmas tree or “die tryin’, ya idjits.”

Castiel, Sam, and Dean spent the next few hours wandering the nearby woods, bantering and joking and complaining about the wind until the impending loss of sunlight made them realize they had better pick out a tree. The woods were riddled with Douglas Firs (“Don’t ask,” Sam had warned Castiel. “We have no idea how these ended up growing here.”), and they made their decision just as the sun started threatening to go down. The tree was just over six feet tall and full-bodied, giving off the best Christmas-tree smell Castiel had ever experienced. Sam made quick work of the trunk in four swings of the ax, leaving Dean and Castiel to saw the end flat. When they hoisted the tree over their shoulders like pallbearers, Castiel was surprised to find that it was lighter than he’d thought it would be.

They carried the tree back to the house, where Bobby greeted them with another twitch of his beard, and stuffed the tree into the green base that was sitting ready for them on the porch. Then, they hauled the tree into the living room and scooted it back into the corner, where it squatted happily amongst the disorganized bookcases and age-old leather armchairs. Bobby rewarded them with a, “You done good, boys,” and a clap on the shoulder before he told Sam and Dean to get a move on dinner, which, apparently, wasn’t going to cook itself. Everyone vehemently protested Castiel’s offer to help, but he managed to convince them to let him sit at the kitchen table and peel carrots for the salad while Dean and Sam argued over the best way to cook a burger.

They ate in the dining room, which seemed to be entirely carved out of dark oak. Castiel devoured his burger, much to the amusement of the others, and Dean had laughed as he’d nudged a napkin under Castiel’s chin. “Slow down there, Cas.” Dean smiled a smile reminiscent of James Dean and Castiel felt his heart drop into his stomach.

Too exhausted to decorate the tree, they fell prey to Bobby’s old tapes of Tom and Jerry cartoons, laughing themselves into stomach cramps as the night grew older and darker. With a last wipe at his eyes, Bobby said goodnight and stumped upstairs, leaving Sam and Dean to sort out the sleeping arrangements. Dean insisted that Castiel take his bedroom, which had been his since childhood, and that he himself would sleep on the couch. He vehemently shot down all of Castiel’s protests and even carried Castiel’s suitcase upstairs to end the argument (Sam had watched all this with an amused expression).

As Castiel lay in bed that night, exhausted but waiting for sleep, he blinked in the dim moonlight filtering in through his windows, looking at the Western movie posters on the walls, wrapped in the warm, recognizable scent of Dean’s sheets, and reached for the tiny hand-carved wooden horse sitting on the bedside table. He traced the worn contours of the mane and imagined Dean’s ten year-old hands doing the same, realizing how far gone he really was.

The next two days were a blur of tree decorating, lewd Christmas carol singing, and long, rambling country walks. Snow continued to threaten from the dim, charcoal sky, but it didn’t stop Dean and Bobby from rolling under the shop’s current project (a 1960s station wagon with original paneling) to tinker with this or that, or Dean from showing Castiel all of his and Sam’s old childhood haunts, like the frog pond at the bottom of the hill or the tyre swing over the creek. Castiel felt like he was treading through the history of this family and seeing everything that they’d experienced, and felt immensely honored to be able to do so.

Christmas Eve morning arrived sleepily, and Castiel woke early enough to catch Bobby nudging a few presents under the brightly-lit tree. The couch was empty, meaning that Dean was presumably in the bathroom upstairs. Castiel leaned against the doorway to the living room, carefully keeping his arms behind his back, and smiled. “Good morning, Santa.”

Bobby jumped a little and turned around with a sheepish expression. “Just a little somethin’,” he said gruffly, leaning on the ottoman to stand up. “It’s the holidays,” he added with a shrug. Castiel had never seen Bobby in his pajamas and wondered if the man just slept in his plaid shirt and baseball cap.

“No worries,” Castiel replied, bringing his arms around in front of him to show Bobby what he was holding. “I was going to do the same thing.”

Bobby blinked in surprise. “There’re three presents,” he said after a moment.

Castiel nodded and went into the living room. “Of course. You don’t think I wouldn’t get my host a present, would you?”

Bobby’s mouth opened and closed a few times and Castiel took the opportunity to cross over to the tree and tuck his presents under its boughs. “I,” Bobby finally managed. “Thank you. That’s really nice.”

Castiel shrugged and stood up, retying the sash on his dressing gown. “More just an expression of gratitude. It’s very kind of you to let me intrude upon your holiday.”

“You’re not intrudin’,” Bobby said instantly. “Besides, you’re—” He cut himself off for a moment before he said, “You’re basically family at this point.”

It was Castiel’s turn to be speechless. Bobby added, “And I don’t know what’s goin’ on with, y’know, you and Dean, what you are to each other or what you might be someday, but,” he continued as Castiel blushed, “what I have to say stands. That boy is my son, for all intents and purposes, and I will not stand to see him hurt, not after everythin’ he’s been through.” He eyed Castiel. “You got me?”

Castiel nodded but was prevented from replying by Dean, who decided to announce his arrival by falling down the last five stairs on the staircase. Alarmed, Castiel rushed out into the hallway just in time to see Dean straighten up with a grin and call, “Beat ya, Sammy!” and hear Sam scoff from the upstairs landing and say, “It doesn’t count if you throw yourself down the stairs, _Dean_.”

They ate a breakfast of bread and preserves from a nearby farm, Dean promising to cook them a huge breakfast for Christmas morning. “Pancakes and eggs and bacon as far as the eye can see,” he told them with a familiar excited gleam in his eye.

Castiel spent the majority of the day with his nose in his notes and books; Sam was doing the same with his law books and Bobby decided to take some time to see to the accounts for the auto shop. Dean called them all a bunch of wusses before stomping out to Bobby’s garage and wheeling himself under the station wagon, and they all watched him go with amused smirks in place.

Just as the clock struck five and the light began to fade, Dean reappeared, his cheeks rosy and his expression exhilarated. Castiel had to remind himself not to stare and put twice the amount of focus into his book, which suddenly seemed to have been written in Ancient Sumerian.

Their dinner was slow and comfortable; they ate off their laps sitting around the fire, which was warm and blazing against the cold. Castiel had to redouble his efforts to not look at Dean too often, to watch the way the light played against Dean’s freckled skin as he joked with his brother. Then, at some point, Dean threw a pack of playing cards at Castiel’s head and said, “C’mon. Why don’t you teach us some whist?”

Secretly amused at Dean’s closeted fondness for the game, Castiel dealt the cards and started explaining how the game worked to Sam and Bobby. Soon, they were proving to be a very efficient team against Dean and Castiel, who struggled to keep up but had fun nonetheless. The minutes bled into hours as they played and laughed and kept tally of how many games each team had won (Bobby and Sam were definitely in the lead), and soon, the old clock above the mantelpiece was chiming ten and Sam was yawning.

“I think I’m gonna head up to bed,” Sam said as he stretched, reminding Castiel of a sleepy golden retriever.

“Me too,” Bobby added, putting down his hand of cards and rubbing his eyes with a yawn.

“Aw.” Dean pouted. “But whist!”

Bobby waved a hand at him and stood up, rubbing his stomach. “I’m gettin’ too old for this.” He made for the doorway. “‘Sides, I know you two’ll wake me up at some ridiculous hour tomorrow.”

“We haven’t done that since we were little, Bobby.” Sam followed Bobby to the staircase.

Bobby grunted. “Yeah, but traditions seem to hold in this family.” He turned to Castiel with a twitch of his beard. “Goodnight, you two. Don’t stay up too late.”

“Yeah, goodnight,” Sam added.

Castiel wished them both a goodnight, Dean grudgingly doing the same. Castiel could’ve sworn he saw Bobby and Sam exchange some kind of secretive look before they headed upstairs, both of them smirking, but shook off the feeling before he got too paranoid.

“I don’t suppose there’s a two-person version of whist?” Dean said, a little glumly.

Castiel nodded and smiled. “Actually, there is. But I’ll need to shuffle again.”

“All right!” Dean swept all the cards towards Castiel, who began gathering them into a pile.

“Oh, I meant to ask you earlier,” Castiel said as he straightened a few edges and picked up some more cards. “How’s the station wagon going?”

Dean hummed and swept a hand along his unshaven jaw. “It’s goin’ pretty good. It’ll just need some replacement parts, maybe some new hosin’—”

“Hosing?” Castiel asked with a frown. “Cars have hosing?”

Dean stared at him for a long moment, dumbfounded. “That’s it,” he finally said, standing up and heading for the front hallway.

Castiel looked after him in confusion. “What’s it?” A second later, his sheepskin overcoat and his knitted beanie (one of Gabe’s high school hobbies) hit him in the face.

“I’m gonna show you how a car works.” Dean reappeared, holding his own black duffle coat, beanie, and scarf. “‘Cause that was a ridiculous question.” He buttoned his coat and shoved on his beanie; Castiel hastily did the same.

Castiel shivered as they stepped out of the back door and into the freezing air. Dean glanced up at the sky. “I think it’ll actually snow tonight. ‘Bout damn time.”

“Is it harder to work on cars in the cold?” Castiel asked as they set off around the house and towards the garage that was about twenty yards away.

Dean shrugged. “Not really, so long as you’ve got a space heater so you don’t give yourself pneumonia.” He shot Castiel a grin. “But the machinery can get a little uncooperative, I guess.”

Castiel hummed as they neared the building. “Sounds fun.”

“That’s ‘cause it is fun.” Dean pulled open the side door and flicked on the light. Castiel blinked in the sudden amber glare; as his eyes adjusted, he saw that the walls were covered in too many tools to name, and dozens of car parts that Castiel didn’t even know existed. To the right was a wide bay that held three old cars, the one nearest to them looking a good deal better than the other two. Castiel recognized the nice car’s trademark shape and wooden paneling and grinned. “So this is the station wagon.”

“You bet. Ain’t she somethin’?” Dean ran his hands down the side of the car with a sort of reverence. Castiel swallowed heavily, wondering if that was the same way Dean would touch someone who—

“Original interior,” Dean was saying, peering in the car’s window. “All the leather on the seats and the dash and steerin’ wheel is exactly the way it was in sixty-five.” He flicked his gaze to Castiel, his eyes wide and happy as he straightened up and came over to Castiel. “Just give me’n Bobby some time with it, and it’ll be purrin’ like Bastet when she’s gettin’ a belly rub.”

“Uh huh,” was Castiel’s genius reply.

Silence fell, and they stood there for a moment, just looking at each other. Castiel took a stuttered breath, wondering what was about to happen, when Dean’s gaze suddenly flickered to the garage door and he let out a little yelp of excitement. Dean was at the garage door’s controls in a flash, standing on his tiptoes to look out of the door’s narrow window, anxiously pressing the largest button. “I don’t believe it!”

“What?” Castiel managed to ask.

Dean gave a loud, single laugh as the door let out an electronic groan and started wheeling itself up. “It’s snowin’!” As soon as the door was open wide enough for him to duck under it, he bounded out into the field, his arms outstretched.

Castiel shook himself a little to bring himself back to reality and followed Dean, jogging down the small hill and looking up at the sky. Just as Dean had said, little white flurries were swirling down from the thick clouds above, melting into raindrops as they hit his forehead, nose, chin. He lost himself in it for a moment, in the sensation of staring into the falling snow, his breath billowing in a cloud in front of him, until Dean’s laughter brought him back to the present.

“Isn’t this great?!” Dean spun on the spot, grinning up at the heavens before he refocused on Castiel, his eyes shining merrily. “Don’t you just love the first snow?”

Castiel couldn’t restrain his own smile. “Yes.”

Dean laughed again, too exhilarated to do anything else. “My favorite part was always tryin’ to catch a snowflake in my mouth.” And he did just that, turning his face skywards and opening his mouth, sticking out his tongue a little and weaving gently on the spot until a flurry landed on his tongue. “Ha!” He turned back to Castiel, grin as wide as ever. “Got one!”

Castiel’s mind reeled, overwhelmed by the beauty of the moment and an all-consuming need to _touch_ , and before he could even second-guess himself, he was closing the distance between them and pressing his mouth to Dean’s.

_Warmth, cold, chapped, soft_ , were all the sensations he was aware of before it hit him that Dean wasn’t kissing him back, was standing there frozen with shock, and Castiel instantly pulled away, warmth flooding his face.

“Oh, my God, I’m so sorry,” Castiel started to babble, dropping his hands from where they’d somehow become latched onto Dean’s coat. “I don’t know why I did that, I know I just messed everything up—” Dean was as still as a statue, staring at Castiel with huge eyes, his smile gone. “I just fucked up our entire friendship, didn’t I? Oh, great, just great.” Castiel turned on the spot, whirling completely around, lost and hurt and having no idea of how he was going to salvage any remnant of their friendship. “I’m so sorry, can we just forget that ever happened? I promise I’ll—”

Dean gave himself a little shake and seemed to refocus on Castiel before he was crowding up against Castiel and kissing him on the mouth, pressing a little more urgently as Castiel’s scrambled brains tried to make sense of what just happened and then Castiel was falling into Dean with a groan, kissing him back and shuddering when Dean’s tongue slid along his bottom lip, gently teasing Castiel’s mouth open and suddenly the kiss was hot and deep and needy, Dean plunging into Castiel’s mouth like it was his sole mission in life, Castiel nibbling the corner of Dean’s lip and Dean letting out a noise that Castiel was sure was illegal in at least thirty states and a second later they broke away, panting, their foreheads touching, needing the oxygen but not wanting it.

“But.” Castiel took an unsteady breath, staring at Dean, who was wonderfully close. “Aren’t you straight?”

Dean stared at him for a second before breaking into his trademark grin. “No, Cas.” He leaned away slightly, his gaze fixed on Castiel’s mouth. “I thought I just made that incredibly clear.”

Castiel stared back at him, shocked. “But… but…”

“Seriously?” Dean’s grin widened. “You thought I was straight this whole time?”

Castiel gaped. “But you talked about girls—”

“I’m bi,” Dean said like he was explaining something to a petulant three year-old. “And I was a very closeted teenager. Cas, I’ve had a crush on you since the moment I met you.” He gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Details.”

Castiel’s heart roared in his ears and his stomach dropped to his ankles. “C-crush?”

Dean chuckled. “Yeah. Isn’t that the term?” He cupped the side of Castiel’s neck and slowly ran his thumb along Castiel’s jaw, his pupils widening as he did so.

“I—you’re—very distracting,” Castiel wheezed, Dean’s touch burning hot against his skin.

“Really?” Dean’s eyes gleamed and he leaned in closer.

It was too much to handle; Castiel pushed forward, pulling Dean in for another kiss, snaking one arm around Dean’s back and sliding the other up Dean’s arm and gripping him by the shoulder. Dean responded eagerly, but a few moments later Dean started smiling again, making it hard for Castiel to kiss him.

Castiel huffed and kissed the corner of Dean’s mouth. “Why are you—would you—stop it, you’re making this difficult—”

“Sorry, I just—” Dean pecked a kiss to Castiel’s mouth but kept on smiling. “You really thought I was straight?”

“We’ve been over this. Yes. I did.” Castiel gave up on Dean’s mouth and started trailing kisses along the underside of Dean’s stubbled jaw.

Dean wheezed and went a bit limp, but he didn’t drop the point. “Have you… liked me this whole time?”

“Since I first saw you,” Castiel mumbled into Dean’s neck, nudging aside the edge of the jacket enough to run his teeth over Dean’s pulse point, loving the way Dean jumped in return.

“Huh.” Castiel could hear Dean’s smile turn into a grin. “Well aren’t we a pair of idiots?”

“Yep.” Castiel sucked a mark onto Dean’s neck and was rewarded with a low moan and fingers tangling in his hair (he absently realized that Dean must’ve pulled off his beanie). Dean gently tugged Castiel away from his neck and guided their mouths back together, teeth briefly colliding before they lined up properly and Castiel dove into Dean’s mouth, running his tongue along the roof of Dean’s mouth and tangling with Dean’s tongue. Dean gave a full-body shudder and tightened his grip on Castiel, sliding a hand under the edge of Castiel’s jacket and running his fingers under the waistband of Castiel’s corduroys. Castiel moaned into Dean’s mouth and responded in kind, using the hand not cupping the back of Dean’s head to undo one of the lower buttons of Dean’s coat and pushing Dean’s shirt out of the way, eagerly pressing his hand to the warm skin he found there. Dean gasped and pulled away, his mouth swollen and his eyes blazing. Castiel felt a thrill of pleasure in knowing that _he_ had done that.

“I think,” Dean said weakly, “that we should maybe move this party inside before we get buried in the snow.”

Castiel reclaimed Dean’s mouth for another second, nibbling on Dean’s lower lip before pulling away. “I could get on board with that,” he replied, slightly out of breath. “If you give me back my beanie.”

Dean let out a laugh. “Oh.” He bent down and picked up Castiel’s hat from where it had fallen to the ground, brushing off the dust and the few snow flurries that had settled in the fabric; Castiel belatedly realized that it had continued snowing, and the air was gradually becoming thicker and thicker with falling snowflakes.

“It’s such a shame,” Dean said, running another hand through Castiel’s hair before pulling the beanie over the top of Castiel’s head. “Your hair looks so good when it’s all messed-up.”

“It looks even better after sex,” Castiel assured him.

Dean gaped at him for a second before leaning right back in and covering Castiel’s mouth with kisses, panting as he broke away and reached for Castiel’s hand, firmly gripping it as he backed away in the direction of the house. “You. Me. Bedroom. Now.”

  
Castiel smirked, gladly following. “Do you really think I’d say no?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so.........
> 
>  
> 
> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhh sorry for the delay!!! but here's the chapter you've all been waiting for ;) 
> 
> hubrisandwax is responsible for most of the *ahem* smutty content. all kudos should go to her!

As they made their way through the dark, quiet house, Castiel was aware of little else besides Dean’s mouth and hands, which seemed to constantly be attached to at least one part of Castiel’s body. Castiel had to work hard to swallow all the sounds he wanted to make as he hungrily kissed Dean back, one hand gripping Dean’s shoulder as they slowly stumbled up the stairs and into Dean’s old bedroom, all too aware that Bobby and Sam were asleep down the hall.

Dean pushed Castiel back against the closed door, fisting his hand in Castiel’s shirt, pulling Castiel’s mouth against his own. Castiel whimpered, trying to pull Dean further over him, into him; both of them shucked their coats, scarves, hats. Castiel untucked Dean’s button-down from his pants, running his hands across the broad expanse of warm, soft skin that was Dean’s back; Dean groaned hot and heavy into Castiel’s mouth, his grip tightening on Castiel’s hips.

Their boots were annoyingly complicated, and Dean actually fucking giggled as Castiel tripped over his laces in the dark. But Castiel shut him up with a kiss, finally managing to kick off his boots, Dean mimicking him a moment later. The one drawback about cold weather, Castiel thought, has to be the layers; he was tugging urgently at the buttons of Dean’s flannel, Dean’s fingers scrabbling at the hem of Castiel’s shirt. Tugging and scrabbling turned into artless shoving, and they ended up laughing, trying to stifle the sound in each other’s mouths and necks as Dean sprawled over the floor next to the bed, a knot of limbs and blue plaid.

Castiel paused for a moment, his grin too big to swallow as he leaned over Dean, their legs tangled together. Here, in the staggered, silver rays of moonlight, Dean looked more beautiful than he ever had before; his eyes fairly gleamed in the dark as he stared back at Castiel before the corner of his swollen mouth twitched and he said, “What?”

Castiel shook his head. “Nothing.” He leaned in closer and started to work on the buttons, slower than he had before. “You’re… just… the most…”—he punctuated his words with kisses to Dean’s exposed torso—“... beautiful… person… I’ve ever known.” He tilted upwards to land a final, almost chaste kiss to Dean’s mouth. Only then did he notice that Dean was trembling, his green eyes boring into Castiel’s like his life depended on it.

“Ditto,” Dean croaked, and then he licked into Castiel’s mouth with a determined ferocity, putting all of himself and his unsaid words into it. Castiel was so distracted that he didn’t notice Dean gently tugging him upwards, breaking away with a gasp when Dean’s mouth was too far to reach. “Cas?” Dean whispered with a quirked grin. “We’re ignorin’ a perfectly good bed here.”

Castiel pulled off his henley in one fluid motion, shivering a little at the contact with the colder air. “Good point,” he whispered back, nudging up against a temporarily speechless Dean until they spilled onto the unmade bed.

Castiel reached for Dean’s corduroys, his fingers fumbling against the zipper in his eagerness. Dean huffed a breathless chuckle and slid his hands over Castiel’s, popping open the button and pulling down the zipper; they exchanged sheepish, almost bashful grins as Dean hoisted himself ungracefully off the mattress to tug off his pants. Castiel went quiet at the sight of Dean’s tented boxers, forgetting to draw breath and his focus becoming a lot sharper. Moments later, all of their other clothes were in a pile on the floor, Castiel fervently admiring Dean’s golden skin in the milky half-light, his hands skimming over Dean’s shoulders and arms and chest almost of their own accord.

“Hold on,” Dean murmured, his voice huskier than usual. He leaned over to the bedside table, his hair glowing white in the moonlight, and dug around in the drawer. With a small “huh” of victory, he pulled out a half-empty bottle of lube and a condom. Dean closed the drawer and wiggled back into place, his shit-eating grin wide. “Knew I’d have it.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow at the condom. “Planning for something?”

Dean lifted one shoulder and rolled his hips; Castiel gasped as Dean’s hardened length grazed across his own through the thin layers of cotton. “Let’s just say that I keep the lube for when I’m alone.” Dean’s eyes were dark and glinting. “And the condom? A silver lining.”

Castiel had a sudden mental image of Dean sprawled naked across this very bed, moaning gutturally with his legs spread wide as he fucked himself with his own fingers, his firm cock leaking all over his stomach, and had to suppress a full-body shudder. He relieved his feelings by reclaiming Dean’s mouth with his own, sucking on Dean’s tongue with a vengeance.

Dean pulled away a few moments later with a restrained gasp. “Hey,” he murmured, hooking a leg behind Castiel’s knee. “Lemme join the party a little.”

And the next thing Castiel knew he was on his back and Dean was pulling off Castiel’s boxers, mouthing a hot line of kisses down Castiel’s torso, paying special attention a spot whenever Castiel’s breathing hitched or he let out a stuttered moan. He nuzzled at Castiel’s happy trail before winking at Castiel, and then he ducked his head and swallowed Castiel’s cock down in one go, burying his nose in the nest of dark hair at the base.

Castiel had to stuff his arm into his mouth to keep himself from crying out, because _holy mother of Allah God Jesus Confucius and Buddha_. Instead, he let out a flat, strained moan that trailed off into a whimper as Dean’s tongue flicked at the head before pressing against the swollen vein on the underside. Shuddering, Castiel mustered what was left of his will and reached for the lube. “Up, please, Dean,” he gasped, and Dean complied, grinning as he pulled off with an obscene _pop_.

“Please, please tell me that what you said about the lube wasn’t a lie.”

Dean hummed from where he was kissing the inside of Castiel’s thigh. “No. It wasn’t a lie.”

Castiel forced himself to take a shuddering breath, feeling somehow lightheaded. “How can you— what do you—” He paused, scrabbling for coherent thought. “How far do you want to—?”

Dean raised himself and kissed Castiel on the mouth; Castiel caught a vague salty tang and realized he was tasting himself and then he got even dizzier. “Honestly, Cas?” Dean said, his voice low, rough, and his pupils blown wide open. “Take me like one of your French girls.”

Castiel actually groaned that time. “I don’t understand that reference, but I really don’t care.”

Dean made a bitchface reminiscent of Sam. “C’mon, dude, _Titanic_ , there’s no way you—”

Castiel slid under Dean and rolled him over; the bed squeaked a little in protest and Castiel buried Dean’s startled squawk in a sloppy kiss. “You’re sure about this?” he whispered against Dean’s mouth as he pressed against Dean from above, his thumb running along Dean’s unshaven jaw. Dean nodded, distracted by the way Castiel’s other hand was sliding Dean’s boxers down. “Abso-fuckin’-lutely,” Dean finally wheezed, his eyes shut and his expression unhitched.

Castiel pulled Dean’s boxers completely off and paused to marvel at Dean’s naked body, which was glowing milky-gold in the moonlight and reflected snow. His muscles were lightly toned and his torso was steadily flushing darker under Castiel’s gaze; his cock, which was a little shorter but thicker than Castiel’s, was standing at full attention and leaking a few drops of precome. Castiel skirted his gaze over everything, Dean’s arms, Dean’s chest, Dean’s collarbone, Dean’s mouth, Dean’s thighs, Dean’s micro-expressions, trying to memorize everything. He watched the way Dean’s mouth curled up sheepishly; how, as Dean blushed, Castiel could barely see the freckles. He was the most beautiful man Castiel had ever seen. 

Dean smiled warmly, almost reverently. “So are you gonna… or are we sittin’ here all night?”

Castiel huffed, reaching for the lube and pressing a quick kiss to Dean’s hip. He’d have time to explore properly later. “Smartass.” He gently lifted one of Dean’s legs, kissing the top of his foot as he moved Dean’s thighs apart, squeezing lube onto his fingers. Leaning forward, Castiel pressed his mouth to Dean’s as he pushed his first finger in. Dean squirmed, panting heavily into Castiel’s mouth: “Cas,” he groaned.

“Don’t worry,” Castiel whispered back, covering Dean’s cheeks, forehead, eyes with soft kisses. “I’ve got you.”  

They stayed like that for a while, kissing while Castiel gently rocked his finger in and out of Dean; as Castiel eased his second finger in, Dean let out a low hiss of approval. Castiel bit at the bolt of Dean’s jaw and sucked at the soft skin under Dean’s chin until Castiel pushed his third finger in and Dean moaned so loudly Castiel had to swallow the sound with his own mouth for fear of waking Sam and Bobby up.

Dean’s cock was heavy and leaking across his stomach as Castiel said, “Ready?”

 Dean nodded and managed to force out a shaky, “Yes.”

Castiel rolled the condom on, his face flushing even darker at the way Dean was watching him. Bending to cover Dean’s chest with kisses, he slid a pillow under Dean’s hips, and then he lined himself up, staring down at Dean before he went any further. “Ready?” Castiel asked again, his voice a tremor.

Dean gave him a sloppy smirk. “I’ve been waitin’ months for this, Cas. Don’t make me wait any longer.”

Castiel swallowed a groan and pressed his mouth to Dean’s as he pushed in slowly, slowly, pulling away to watch Dean’s face, the way his body reacted, the flush creeping its way from his face across his chest. It was the hottest thing Castiel had ever seen — better than he’d ever imagined. 

“Wanna…?” Dean hissed, and Castiel knew what he meant. 

“No.” Castiel stroked Dean’s jaw line and ran a finger across his bottom lip. “I want to see your face.”

Dean moaned at that and bucked his hips. Castiel acquiesced, pressing further forward and fucking into Dean, caging Dean with his limbs, pressing his lips to any available patch of skin. He slowed down when he felt the angle was right, wanting to pace it out, savor the feeling of Dean’s sweaty skin pressed against his. The slide became almost unbearable, tripping the line between pleasure and pain, but Dean was coming undone beneath him, murmuring a broken string of curses, sounds, and Castiel’s name. Castiel didn’t want to stop, loving the feeling of them together, the sound of their skin brushing together.

Eventually, when Castiel’s skin became too hypersensitive, and he felt like everything was too much, almost overwhelming, he bit his lip and wrapped his fist around Dean’s cock, bracing his weight against his other arm and gazing into Dean’s eyes. He increased his pace steadily, keeping eye contact, getting lost in the dark green of Dean’s gaze.

“I’m …” Dean gasped. The flush across his skin deepened, becoming a deep crimson. “Cas!” he squeaked, writhing underneath him. Then Dean shot between them, Castiel close behind as he bit Dean’s shoulder to stop from screaming out, Dean pulling a pillow over his face.

It took a few moments for reality to re-emerge, appearing slowly, Castiel’s vision still blurred at the edges as he eased himself out of Dean. Dean, gazing at Castiel fondly, tiredly, mouth stretched into a lazy smile. Castiel got unsteadily off the bed, pulled off the condom, wrapped it in a tissue, and tossed it into the trash can. He grabbed a dirty t-shirt from his laundry pile, exchanging lazy kisses with Dean as he swept their skin clean. Then he eased himself under the covers on his side of the bed as Dean did the same.

He kissed Dean’s mouth once, tender. “Thank you.”

“For?” Dean murmured drowsily, shifting his weight and wrapping his arm around Castiel. Octopus Dean was back.

“For everything,” Castiel said quietly. He smiled before turning, pressing his back to Dean’s front, snuggling into Dean’s embrace. _I really don’t hate being the little spoon_ , he thought.

“Mmm,” was the last thing Castiel heard as he drifted off to sleep, Dean’s lips pressed to the back of his neck.

 

* * *

 

Castiel woke the next morning to cold winter sunlight and a lot of freckles, his vision swimming in a sea of green.

“Good morning,” Dean said, his grin wide and bright.

Castiel blinked before last night suddenly hit him. “Oh.”

Dean pulled back and regarded Castiel carefully. “That a good ‘oh’ or a bad ‘oh’?”

“It’s…” Castiel frowned just a little. “Good. The best, actually.” His face split into a grin so wide his cheeks ached, Dean’s expression mirroring his own. “And I… I slept. All night.”

“No nightmare?”

“No nightmare,” Castiel confirmed. He leaned forward and pressed a closed-mouth kiss to Dean’s lips, loving the way their stubble sounded as it grazed together.

Dean grinned wickedly at him. “I think that calls for a celebration.” He slid down Castiel’s body, kissing the skin of his stomach, his happy trail, right down to the nest of hair where his cock sat and twitched in expectation. Castiel inhaled a shuddery breath.

“Dean, your family, I—”

“Shh, Cas. They won’t be up for long time.” And then he licked at a bead of precum on the tip of Castiel’s cock. Castiel whimpered.

Dean grabbed Castiel’s hands, pressed them into his hair, and sank right down onto the shaft the way he had the night before. Castiel thought he might implode, heat blossoming under the skin of his chest, his shoulders, his face. He groaned even louder than he had before; Dean popped off with a very loud, wet sounding _smack_ , winked, and said, grinning, “Keep it down, Casanova.”

“Asshat,” Castiel wheezed, swatting at Dean, who began sucking at Castiel’s cock again in earnest. Covering his mouth with his hand to try and quiet himself, soon Castiel was shaking with the effort of holding himself together, biting down on the flesh of his fist. He knew he wasn’t going to last long, and it only took a minute before he felt himself nearing the edge.

“Dean, I’m—” he managed to stutter out as a warning, feeling like he was going to explode. Dean looked up at him, lips wrapped obscenely around Castiel’s cock, pupils blown. Castiel tried to tug him off, writhing, but Dean just sucked harder.

Coming with a half-stifled yell, Castiel threw his head back against the pillow as Dean shuddered and swallowed, his mouth working against Castiel’s cock.

Limp, lights still exploding in front of his eyes, Castiel reached for Dean and tugged him closer. “C’mere.” He pulled Dean in for a sloppy kiss, their teeth knocking together and their tongues tangling lazily, morning breath forgotten. Once again, Castiel could taste himself on Dean’s mouth, and he threaded his fingers through Dean’s hair as yet another spike of pleasure rattled through him. Their kiss turned to mouthing at each other’s necks, too relaxed to have any real technique. Dean shifted eventually, squirming closer to Castiel, half on top of him, propping his chin on Castiel’s chest and using his finger to trace patterns on Castiel’s stomach. They were quiet for a moment, then Dean looked up at Castiel through his lashes and murmured, “Hey. Merry Christmas.”

Castiel’s face broke into a smile and he carded his fingers through Dean’s hair again, loving that he could do this now. “Merry Christmas, Dean.”

Dean hummed and kissed the side of Castiel’s pec. “So where does this Christmas rank? In terms of other Christmases?” He glanced at Castiel again, not quite hiding the edge of insecurity in his gaze.

“Oh, number one. This beats all other Christmases.” Castiel stroked Dean’s cheekbones, the ridge of his nose. “You?”

“Hmmph.” Dean twisted to kiss Castiel’s hand, the corner of his mouth sliding into a smile. “Number one. Definitely.” He leaned up and forward, his mouth barely grazing Castiel’s before kissing him earnestly, slow and languid.

Castiel pulled away, looking down at Dean’s soft, sincere eyes. “So… is this us now?”

“I thought so, yes. If you want.” Dean watched Castiel, somehow still insecure.

“Of course I want this.” Castiel shifted, sitting up slightly so he could kiss Dean again. “Nothing else could convince me otherwise,” he murmured against Dean’s skin, loving the way Dean shivered in response. “Now.” He shifted again, feeling the distinct presence of Dean’s cock against his hip before gently rolling Dean off of him and pressing Dean down into the pillows. “I think you should let me return the favor. As a Christmas present.”

Dean smirked. “If I have to.”

So Castiel spent the next half hour discovering Dean’s sensitive spots, which included both nipples, two areas between his ribs, and behind his left ear. Dean had tried to direct Castiel away from the little mound of tummy pooch just underneath his navel, saying, “You just ignore that, that doesn’t exist,” and Castiel had rolled his eyes and covered the area with kisses, murmuring, “Don’t be ridiculous, Dean.” And when Castiel finally took Dean’s length in his mouth and went down like the champ he was, he couldn’t stop himself from falling in love with the way Dean tasted, the way Dean squirmed and wheezed Castiel’s name, the way Dean shone in the early morning sunlight.

 

* * *

 

“Don’t panic,” Dean said through gritted teeth as they paused at the top of the staircase; from what they could tell, Sam and Bobby were already awake and downstairs, presumably waiting for them. A thin chorus of Christmas carols floated upwards from the living room. “They’re… they’ll just…”

“What are you worrying about?” Castiel asked him, giving Dean’s hand a quick squeeze. “Do you really think that they’d be upset about this?”

“No,” Dean ground out, but the tension in his shoulders didn’t shift.

Castiel brushed a kiss to Dean’s cheek and felt Dean’s frame soften. “So calm down. We’ll walk down there like nothing is different, because nothing _is_ different.” He considered. “Well, except that we’ve seen each other naked. That’s different.”

Dean snorted and tightened his grip on Castiel’s hand. “All right.” He rolled his shoulders and cleared his throat, giving Castiel a quick peck on the mouth before he started walking downstairs, keeping a firm hold of Castiel’s hand.

Castiel could hear Bobby and Sam talking in the living room, and he caught a glimpse of their well-lit Christmas tree before he and Dean were stepping into the doorway and Sam and Bobby went quiet, staring at Castiel and Dean with undeniably smug expressions.

“Mornin’,” Bobby said to them, the implication heavy in his voice. “And Merry Christmas.”

“Yeah, Merry Christmas,” Sam chimed in, grinning fit to burst.

Silence fell as they all just stood there for a minute, exchanging stares as “Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer” played in the background. Just as Castiel was about to say something, Sam spoke up:

“So, what’s new?”

Dean cleared his throat again and he said, “Well… Cas and I, we…” He glanced at Castiel. “We’re, uh, together,” he finished lamely, swinging their joined hands as evidence.

Sam and Bobby raised their eyebrows. “Aw, shoot,” Bobby said, just as Sam asked, “Do birds fly? Do fish swim? Does the sun go down every day?”

Dean blushed all the way to his ears. “Shuddup.”

Bobby was grumbling under his breath as he pulled out his wallet. “Damn kid…” He fished out a rumpled twenty and handed it over to a smirking Sam, who said, “Easy money, old man!”

Dean blinked. “What’s that?”

“We had a bet.” Sam tucked the bill into his pocket, looking smug and triumphant. “I bet that you guys would get your shit together by Christmas. Bobby said it would be New Year’s.”

“Ah.” Castiel started to smile. “A conspiracy.”

“Yup.”

“You…” Dean’s gaze jerked from Sam to Bobby and back again, his mouth hanging slightly open. “You what?”

“Honestly, Dean, what did you expect?” Sam sat back in his armchair. “I’ve never seen more pining before in my life, and I spend my time with nerds.”

“I… you…” Dean snapped his mouth shut. “Shut up. C’mon, Cas.” He headed for the kitchen, tugging Castiel along behind him. “Let’s go make these fuckers some breakfast.”

 

* * *

 

“Dean, if you don’t calm down, you’re going to give yourself a stroke.” Castiel rubbed Dean’s tense arm placatingly. “There’s nothing to worry about!”

“Yeah, except that we could all fall out of the sky and _die_.” The muscles in Dean’s jaw worked forcefully. “Is _that_ nothing to worry about?”

“We are _not_ going to fall out of the sky.” Castiel wished that they were on a plane somewhere else, somewhere a little more liberal than South Dakota, because he wasn’t sure what would happen if he started cuddling Dean in public. “We aren’t even in the air yet.”

Dean made an odd strangled noise, somewhere between a groan and a laugh.

Castiel sighed as people filed past him; he and Dean had been in the first boarding group, so they’d managed to snag exit-row seats before anyone else did. But, the waiting seemed to be bothering Dean more than anything else. Castiel wished he knew of a sure-fire way to comfort Dean that didn’t involve serious PDA, so he settled for humor, hoping that it would work.

“Let’s have a little perspective here, Dean,” Castiel said, deadpan. “Flying in an airplane is easier than feeding five thousand people with only five loaves of bread and two fish.”

Dean stared at Castiel, his expression flat, before he burst into laughter, the tension leaking out of his frame. “God, I love you,” he choked out; a second later, he realized what he’d said, and froze, a blush creeping up his neck. “I, I mean,” he stuttered, not looking at Castiel. “I mean that I love what you, uh, what you—”

Castiel almost chuckled, reaching for Dean’s hand and squeezing it. “Stop freaking out, Dean.” He leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to Dean’s surprised mouth. They’d only been ‘together’ for a few weeks now, but given everything, it didn’t feel scary, and it didn’t feel wrong. “I love you, too.”

“Oh.” Dean relaxed again, his mouth curling into a small, pleased smile. “That’s… that’s nice.” His grip tightened on Castiel’s hand and his thumb stroked the edge of Castiel’s palm.

Someone passing by on the way to their seat hissed, “Faggots.”

Dean raised a jaunty middle finger into the air, flipping off whoever it was before leaning in to kiss Castiel again, neither of them able to stop smiling, and Castiel realized that they would be just fine, they would be okay, probably even better than okay. They would be fantastic. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> what can i say? in my (and everyone else's) headcanon, dean and cas make like bunnies. 
> 
> only the epilogue left now... 
> 
>  
> 
> (and i'm sorry i'm just really proud of the "French girls" line)


	19. Epilogue

Dean frowned at the television, Bastet settled comfortably in his lap. “C’mon, Suzanna, don’t listen to that creep, you deserve better,” he chided the woman on-screen.

Castiel raised an eyebrow as he came in from the kitchen, carrying two bowls of chili. “I thought you said you didn’t watch _The Bachelorette_.”

Dean coughed a little, blushing as Castiel sat down next to him. “ _Doctor Sexy_ wasn’t on, and nothin’ else was good.”

“Good?” Castiel repeated, holding out Dean’s bowl. “Since when is _The Bachelorette_ good?”

“It has… themes, and symbolism, and allegory.” Dean took his bowl with a small clink as his silver wedding band made contact with the earthenware; Bastet sniffed interestedly at the bottom of the bowl. “Shut up,” he added, at seeing Castiel’s expression.

“I didn’t say anything,” Castiel replied, smirking.

“Yeah, but I saw you thinkin’ it.” Dean waved his spoon around in the air to demonstrate said thinking.

“You can’t prove anything.” Castiel dug into his chili, automatically shifting so that his feet were intertwined with Dean’s.

“Shhh,” was Dean’s clever reply, attention already back on the TV.

They stayed like that for a while, alternately groaning whenever the Bachelorette made a stupid decision or one of the guys said something really cliché. Then, Dean’s phone started to ring, a muffled blast of “Back in Black.” Dean made a face of slight annoyance and answered: “Hello?”

Dean sat up instantly, almost spilling the rest of his chili as he half-threw his bowl onto the coffee table. Bastet jumped off his lap, indignant. “Is she okay?” he demanded of whoever was on the other line. “Where did they take her?”

Castiel sat up as well, his heart starting to pound. Something was definitely wrong; Dean reached for Castiel and gripped his arm.

“Okay. We’ll be there in ten minutes.” Dean hung up, turning his wide gaze on Castiel. “Amy,” he said, answering Castiel’s unspoken question. “She went into labor at the supermarket. They’ve taken her to Lutheran Hospital.”

“She went into labor?!”

“I know.” Dean scrabbled for Castiel’s hands, both of them trembling. “This is it. This is happening. This is really happening.”

“Holy shit.” Castiel gulped. “I can’t—”

Dean kissed him, fast and messy. “Me either.”

Amy was their surrogate, and she was carrying a little baby girl who Dean and Castiel had been waiting to see for nine months, maybe even longer.

As Dean and Castiel scrambled around the house trying to get all of their supplies together, neither of them could stop grinning, already overjoyed at the idea of finally getting to meet their new daughter. After six months of friendship, a year of being together, three months of being engaged, and two years of being married, they were ready for the rest of it, ready to build the dash between the years of their births and deaths, and ready to do it together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gah! i can't believe it's over!! (and i'm such a fluffy piece of trash i know i know)
> 
> thank you so much for all your support and lovely comments :3 you're all wonderful! thank you for reading!! <3


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